


Lost and Found

by alyjude_sideburns



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-10 12:34:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyjude_sideburns/pseuds/alyjude_sideburns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another Sen Too sequel where Jim and Blair clear things up.   Takes place following the episode Sen Too, Part Two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

> Watching Sentoo part one and two and yet another post sentoo story takes over my already feeble brain. Then, as I'm watching the episodes again, while writing, I get this idea and I ask Senad. Ah, wonderful Senad. And after the responses, both on and off list, I came back and changed the story!!! SO Senad, this one is for you! Thank you for my home.
> 
> Warning: Whatever you do, DON'T steal Jim's favorite white socks. Blair will kill you. You see, it seems that Jim uses the white socks on Blair, you know? Get my drift? They're both bondage sluts! And yes, drat, I gave the dang things back -- damn.

 

**Lost and Found by Alyjude**

 

The small airport was noisy, crowded, full of people milling about, waiting for flights. Many had children in tow, some crying, some playing. Over the din, the loudspeaker droned on, spreading its garbled messages that announced arrivals and departures in both English and Spanish. Smoke from cigarettes and cigars floated overhead, the no smoking rule of America seriously absent in the heart of Mexico.  
  
Blair roused himself long enough to glance at his partner, vaguely wondering how he was handling the environment. His bloodshot eyes took in Jim's lanky form, long legs stretched out in front of him, hands shoved deep in his pockets, head back, eyes closed.  
  
Jim was seated next to Megan and to the casual observer, appeared to be resting. But Blair wasn't the casual observer and the compressed lips, the taut muscles and the slight crease of his brow told Blair that Jim was far from any type of restful state.  
  
Sentinel-soft, Blair whispered, "you okay, Jim? You dialed down?"  
  
Jim gave an almost invisible nod, but didn't open his eyes. Blair closed his and drifted. Next to Blair, Simon Banks watched the nearly invisible by-play between the two men and frowned. His best 'unofficial' team was in trouble, professionally and personally, and the events of the last three days had done nothing to improve the situation.  
  
A heaviness gripped his heart as his gaze fell first on the young man seated next to him, then swept over to Jim. Only an aisle separated the two, but it might as well have been the Grand Canyon.  
  
Simon shook his head as he thought back over the last days. He still couldn't believe that Blair had left his hospital bed to traipse after Jim. Okay, maybe that wasn't so hard to believe, but the fact that Blair had held up, had managed to keep up, that was the miracle. Of course, Simon now wished with all his heart that Blair hadn't been able to keep up. That somehow, Blair could have been spared seeing Jim with Alex.  
  
Simon didn't completely understand what had happened, only that Jim hadn't been in control. But somehow, that knowledge hadn't helped. Hadn't help Jim and certainly wasn't helping Sandburg.  
  
Which brought him back to checking the younger man, which in turn, increased his worry. Blair was too pale, too wasted looking, and the slight trembling of his hands hadn't escaped Simon's notice either. They'd be getting Blair home not a minute too soon.  
  
As Simon's gaze bounced from one man to the other, his fears and worries doubled. Under any other circumstances, Jim would be seated beside Blair, but when they'd entered the airport and had made their way to the seats around their gate, Jim had deliberately taken a chair across from the one Blair had chosen. Not a good sign.  
  
As he stared, Simon realized he'd been caught. Foggy blue eyes opened and met his. He tried to give Sandburg an encouraging smile, but it must have fallen flat because Blair simply looked away, checked his back pocket and stood.  
  
"I'll be right back," he said to no one in particular.  
  
Simon's concerned gaze followed the younger man as he headed slowly toward the bathrooms. He almost went after him when Blair paused halfway, body swaying, but he seemed to collect himself and quickly disappeared behind the swinging door.  
  
A few minutes later, just as Blair returned, their flight was called.  
  
*****  
  
It was open seating and as they boarded, Blair took the lead. He chose a window seat about halfway down the aisle but in front of the wings and Simon couldn't help but notice how he watched Jim's progress, eyes wary, yet hopeful.  
  
Megan was in front of Jim and, figuring that the two men would sit together, she took the seat directly behind Blair. Her dark blue eyes widened in surprise as Jim slid in beside her.  
  
Blair quickly turned his head away and took a sudden interest at something out his window. Simon sat beside him and immediately buckled himself in.  
  
Things were going downhill -- fast.  
  
Blair's exhaustion caught up to him less than thirty minutes into the flight, his head lolling against the window, bloodshot eyes shutting. Simon caught the movement and gently pulled the younger man to him, maneuvered the armrest up and let the body sink into his. Sandburg was so far gone, he never stirred as his head was cushioned against Simon's chest.  
  
As Banks gazed down at the sleeping man, he was immediately caught up in a sudden onslaught of feelings. He brought his arm around to hold the exhausted body and marveled at what a difference the last three years had made in his life. And how the man sleeping against him was a major part of that difference.  
  
Simon Banks wasn't quite old enough to be Sandburg's father, but at the moment, he felt the part. All the emotions that he associated with Daryl, he was now experiencing in conjunction with Blair. And like any father who knows that his children's lives were out of his control, he felt powerless.  
  
The detective in Simon took a front seat to the father as he tried to work his way through the last several days, to delve into what had gone wrong, and why so much had fallen apart so suddenly. But no matter how he tried, he simply couldn't reconcile any of it.  
  
He reviewed that night in the bullpen, the night of Blair's death and he could hear the words coming from Jim Ellison's mouth, the words that told Blair their relationship couldn't be salvaged.  
  
Simon hadn't missed the total shock on Blair's face nor the strange detachment on Jim's and it seemed, in retrospect, that so much more had been going on that night. More than even the two men involved were aware.  
  
But then, their world had gone topsy-turvy with Blair's death and subsequent rebirth.  
  
As Blair had been loaded into the ambulance, Jim climbing in behind the gurney, Simon had been certain the partnership would be restored. That his world would be returned to its predictable orbit. And when Blair had shown up in Sierra Verde, he'd been certain that all would be well.  
  
God, how wrong could one man be?  
  
But then, Alex. And now -- there seemed to be nothing left.  
  
Simon Banks watched Blair Sandburg sleep and wondered how this would ultimately end. Cold fingers of dread gave him the unwanted answer.  
  
*****  
  
The pilot announced their approach to San Francisco International Airport and, with great reluctance, he shook Blair awake. The man had moved little during the long flight and Simon had let him sleep through the meal service.  
  
"Come on, buddy, rise and shine. We're about to land in foggy San Francisco. Up and at 'em, Sandburg."  
  
Blair struggled upright, his right hand pushing back a tangle of hair, eyes blinking owlishly as he fought for focus. The inside of his mouth felt like a volcano about to blow and his lungs burned with the heat of the same volcano.  
  
Would anyone notice if he blew?  
  
"I'm up, Simon. Awake and aware." That was a lie, but what the hey. He was awake.  
  
The plane made a smooth landing and taxied to the gate. People began to stand, to pull out luggage, all eager to deplane.  
  
The four tired Cascadians walked up the ramp, legs feeling like hundred pound weights. They still had a two-hour layover before their flight to Cascade.  
  
As they came out into the airport, Megan quipped, "By my reckoning, we have about a two-mile hike to the other end of the airport to make our connection, guys."  
  
Before anyone could answer, a strong voice called out, "BLAIR!"  
  
All four travelers turned to see a tall, rangy, barrel-chested man striding up to them.  
  
Sparkling green eyes fastened on Blair as a huge grin split the handsome face and a moment later, the stranger had engulfed the younger man in a huge bear hug.  
  
As the two men separated, Blair cleared his throat and faced his friends. "Uh, guys, this is Gault Willoughby, an old friend." He turned to the tall man and said, "Gault, this is Captain Simon Banks, Inspector Megan Connor and -- Detective Jim Ellison."  
  
No one missed the slight, almost painful pause before he'd introduced Jim.  
  
Gault Willoughby held out a hand and shook first with Simon, then Megan, and finally with Jim. "I'm glad to meet you all. I've heard so much about you and Major Crimes that I feel I already know you." As he finished, he turned back to Blair, thus missing the shocked expressions on the faces of the people he'd just met.  
  
"You ready, Blair?"  
  
Sandburg gazed at Simon, then at Jim. Simon's expression clearly screamed, 'What the hell!', but Jim's face gave nothing away. Blair took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah, I'm ready."  
  
Willoughby smiled at everyone and said, "Well, it's been great meeting you all."  
  
Simon couldn't contain his confusion any longer. In a voice that was usually reserved for the criminal element of Cascade, he demanded, "Sandburg, what the hell is going on?"  
  
Face suddenly beet red, Blair stammered out, "Uh, I c-called Gault from Mexico. Asked him to m-meet me here." Blair stopped and gave an apologetic glance at Willoughby, then turned back to Simon. "I'm -- going to stay with him for a few days. You know -- before going back to Cascade."  
  
Shell-shocked, no one spoke.  
  
Gault gently took Blair's backpack from his shoulders and dropped his arm across them. Blair blinked a couple of times, glanced at Jim, saw nothing in the older man's eyes, swallowed hard and said, "So, um, guess I'll see you around." He lifted his head to look up at Gault and said, "I'm ready." Willoughby smiled another goodbye and guided Blair away.  
  
"Well," was all that Megan could come up with as Blair walked away.  
  
Flummoxed, Simon was watching the retreating back. He felt as though a son had just been torn from his arms and somebody should have stopped it. He turned angrily toward his detective, ready to snap his head off.  
  
But one look at Jim stopped him cold.  
  
The detective was frozen solid, the only sign of life being a throbbing vein at his temple and the square jaw clenching and unclenching. His ice blue eyes were fixed on a point ahead of him and Simon knew that Jim, and Jim alone, could still see Blair's retreating form.  
  
*****  
  
Gault glanced worriedly at his companion. Blair looked like shit and the long walk to the car had left the younger man breathing hard. On top of that, the emotions he'd felt when meeting Blair's friends had left him with the feeling that Blair had been less than truthful when he'd called from Mexico.  
  
Something was wrong, but Gault knew Blair well enough to know that asking now would get him exactly nowhere fast.  
  
During the entire ride through San Francisco, over the Golden Gate Bridge and into Sausalito, Blair said nothing, and Gault wisely let silence reign.  
  
Pulling into his driveway, he finally turned to Blair and with a jovial tone he didn't feel, said, "Here we are, home, sweet home. You're gonna love the view, Blair."  
  
He grabbed Blair's backpack from the backseat of his Lincoln and guided the younger man up the wooden stairs to the front door of his Sausalito home. Getting the door open, he ushered his quiet guest inside.  
  
"Your bedroom is down the hall, second door on the right and if I do so say so myself, you have a spectacular view of the Bay. But if not to your liking, you can have the third bedroom with a view of the side garden."  
  
Blair glanced around, his eyes not really seeing. "Any room is fine, Gault. Thanks."  
  
Taking Blair's arm, Gault led him down a hall and into a large, airy room. He placed the backpack in a corner chair, crossed to the large bay window and pulled the drapes. He pushed open the two windows, allowing a breath of fresh ocean air into the room.  
  
"Look, it's obvious you're exhausted, so what say you take a short nap and when you wake, I'll have dinner ready and we can talk, sound good?"  
  
Blair smiled wanly. "I could use some -- rest. But don't go to any trouble with dinner. Maybe just some soup?"  
  
"Tell me you're not still an alphabet soup fan?"  
  
Blair grinned, the first real smile since Gault had picked him up. "Well, truth be told -- it is a secret vice. Still."  
  
"What a coincidence, I just happen to have a couple of cans. Now you rest and when you wake, we chow down on the alphabet."  
  
Blair nodded and Gault left, closing the bedroom door behind him.  
  
Sandburg took in a deep, shuddering breath and immediately winced. Lungs that he'd ignored for days were now protesting vehemently. He took off his jacket, heeled off his tennis shoes and sat down on the edge of the bed. From his position, he could look out over the Bay, note the sailboats approaching Sausalito, catch a glimpse of the marina and even the San Francisco skyline.  
  
It wasn't his bay, wasn't home, but then nothing was anymore.  
  
He dropped back, pulled the pillows out from under the bedspread and curled up, intending to rest and enjoy the view for a few minutes, before going to sleep.  
  
*****  
  
In the living room, Gault Willoughby sat down in the large leather recliner and with a beer in one hand and a framed picture in the other, he sought answers.  
  
His eyes took in the photograph, a photo that he knew so well. The background was the very Bay that Blair was looking out on from his room. In the foreground, three people, a man, a woman and a child.  
  
The man, in his very early twenties had his right arm around a laughing red-haired beauty. She was smiling up at him, love shining from her eyes. In the big man's arms, a curly-haired boy with a baseball cap perched on his head. The boy looked to be about eight, but was in reality, ten. Both of his small hands were cupping the big man's face, apparently trying to scrunch it into the same shape as his own -- that of a fish.  
  
Gault traced first the face of the woman -- Naomi Sandburg, then the boy's -- Blair Sandburg. His family -- for eighteen months. The best months of his life. A family he'd never replaced.  
  
A family he'd never tried to recapture.  
  
*****  
  
"You let him go, Jim."  
  
It was a simple statement, but Simon couldn't say it. Not to Jim's face. But he was saying it plenty in his mind.  
  
Jim - let - him - go.  
  
Now the three of them sat on another airplane, winging their way home, but one of them was missing. One of his men was absent. One of his people. And it wasn't right. But again -- he was powerless.  
  
As for Jim, he was a basket-case. Not a typical basket-case. Oh, no, not Jim Ellison. Very unique basket-case. He was responsive -- barely. He was angry -- completely. And he was hurting -- big time. Simon hadn't worked with the man for over eight years without learning the signs.  
  
When their flight had been called, it had taken both Megan and Simon to get Jim on board. Not because he'd fought them, but because he'd been oblivious to the announcement. They got him on board, seated, belted. No questions asked.  
  
Simon hadn't missed the tears in Connor's eyes either.  
  
It was going to be a long flight.  
  
*****  
  
The three people stepped out into the night air.  
  
"Megan, you come in your car, or Sandburg's?"  
  
"We came in mine, Simon," she answered quietly.  
  
"Fine. Then I'll see you on Monday. And Connor?"  
  
She tilted her head, one eyebrow questioning.  
  
"Thanks. You made a difference."  
  
She smiled a bittersweet smile and placed one hand on Jim's arm. "Jim, take care. And... he'll be back." She reached up and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. He blinked at her and nodded.  
  
She darted across the street and disappeared into the parking structure.  
  
"Well, let's get you home, eh, Jim?"  
  
*****  
  
Simon nudged Jim inside of #307, closed the door and flicked on the table light. Looking at the motionless man next to him, he shook his head. If he hadn't known better, he'd have thought Jim was catatonic.  
  
He started to pull the duffel bag from Jim's shoulder but Jim's voice stopped him.  
  
"I'm okay, Simon. Go home, get some rest. You have the weekend to recuperate. Call Daryl."  
  
"Jim..."  
  
"Simon, I'm okay. Go."  
  
"I hate leaving you like this...."  
  
"Well, don't. I'm fine."  
  
Simon knew this was one battle he'd lose.  
  
"Get some rest, Jim. I'm going to stop by tomorrow, make sure you're eating."  
  
Steel blue eyes turned to Simon. "You think there's some reason I wouldn't eat?"  
  
"Don't play games with me, Ellison. This is Simon Banks you're talking to. You're angry, you're hurt and Blair isn't here."  
  
"Blair wasn't here before. I ate."  
  
"GOD DAMN IT, ELLISON!" He took a deep breath, realizing that it wouldn't help to lose what temper he had left. "Okay, counting to ten. Look, Jim, I don't understand everything, but Blair not returning was a shock. For me, for Megan, for you. You can't deny that. Or are you telling me you're all right with his decision? With the fact that he might never return?"  
  
Simon knew instantly that he'd pushed when pulling was required. Big mistake.  
  
Jim pivoted and reached for the door.  
  
"Goodnight, Simon."  
  
With a disgusted whoosh of air, Simon left, slamming the door behind him.  
  
The duffel bag dropped from Jim's slumping shoulder and into his hand. His fingers tightened around the strap as he gazed about his home.  
  
A home without warmth.  
  
There was nothing of the man he'd taken in over three years ago. Nothing. No belongings, no scent, no mess.  
  
Without conscious thought, his right arm rose and swung back...  
  
... and the duffel bag sailed through the air.  
  
It flew over the couch, the coffee table, through the loft windows, shattering glass, over the balcony to finally disappear in the night.  
  
Lights from the city of Cascade twinkled against the jagged glass, capturing Jim's attention. The colors, the bright pinpoints of diamond-like sparkles reeled him in....  
  
*****  
  
Downstairs, Simon climbed into his Crown Victoria and was about to insert the key into the ignition when something landed with a thud in front of his car.  
  
"WHAT THE HELL?!"  
  
He quickly climbed out and walked angrily around to the front. On the street, Jim's duffel bag.  
  
Dear god.  
  
Simon glanced up but saw nothing. He picked up the bag and literally ran back inside, hit the elevator button and moments later was standing outside #307.  
  
He didn't bother to knock, simply pulled out his spare key, the one Jim had insisted on giving him after the whole Lash episode, inserted it and pushed open the door.  
  
Cold air swirled around a zoned Jim Ellison.  
  
Cold air courtesy of the shattered balcony doors.  
  
Simon dropped the one-time missile and rushed to Jim's side.  
  
"Ellison! Can you hear me? Come on, Jim, look at me!"  
  
Nothing.  
  
Simon had seen only three of Jim's zones in the last three years and for all three, Blair had been there, talking quietly, touching, grounding the man. None of the zones had lasted longer than a few seconds.  
  
Five minutes later -- Jim was still zoned.  
  
And Simon was sweating.  
  
He'd yelled, touched, shaken, and all for nothing. No response. Simon was officially scared shitless; his worst nightmare a sudden reality. Where was a Blair Sandburg when you really needed him?  
  
In San Francisco. Because he had no home here.  
  
Desperate times called for desperate measures.  
  
Simon hit Jim.  
  
It worked.  
  
Jim's body swayed with the blow and a hand came up to rest against the jaw that had taken Simon's right fist.  
  
Cloudy blue eyes squinted, focused, cleared.  
  
"Simon?"  
  
"Yeah, Ellison. Simon. You zoned. After you threw your luggage out the balcony window. You missed my car by mere inches."  
  
Jim followed Simon's gaze to the broken window. "Fuck."  
  
"Well said, Jim. It would appear you're not quite as 'fine' as you think."  
  
"I can't stay here, Simon. There's nothing of him here. Nothing." He turned tortured eyes on his friend. "I can't even smell him."  
  
Taking the man's arm, Simon said, "You're coming home with me. Tomorrow, we'll get this sorted out."  
  
"The window."  
  
"Right, first we board up the damn window."  
  
*****  
  
Gault was drifting in his memories. Memories of a small boy, a hand tucked trustingly in his larger one, a slaphappy grin on the dirty face, sparkling, mischievous blue eyes laughing up at him....  
  
His son.  
  
Gault Willoughby had met Naomi Sandburg at the aquarium twenty-two years ago. He'd been almost twenty-one and a struggling student. She'd been twenty-five and the mother of an eight-year-old boy.  
  
Although, to be accurate, he'd met Blair first.  
  
The small boy had been running helter-skelter through the exhibits and had slammed into him, then bounced off the large body to land hard on the concrete floor of the tidal pool exhibit. Gault didn't have a whole lot of experience with children, but he did know that when they fell, they cried, so he'd prepared himself.  
  
But the small boy had surprised him by gazing up, grinning and asking cheekily, "you hurt?"  
  
Gault had immediately been smitten. "I think I'll live. You're one big dude, but I'm strong."  
  
The boy had guffawed and scrambled to his feet. He brushed off his tattered jeans with clumsy, small hands then grinned again. "I'm Blair." Just that, nothing more.  
  
Gault Willoughby was a goner.  
  
They spent the next fifteen minutes at the tidal pools as Blair pointed out stuff that Gault had doubted even the Marine experts knew!  
  
And it never once occurred to him that the boy was spending time with a complete stranger.  
  
When Naomi finally 'caught up' with her son, he'd shyly introduced her to his new friend and Gault Willoughby had fallen hard; it took all of one minute.  
  
In the experimental dating days that followed, Naomi Sandburg had turned out to be everything he'd ever dreamed of finding in a woman. Generous, wild, giving, smart, adventuresome and a loving mother.  
  
He gave his heart and soul to the two people he'd met that day and the next eighteen months had been sheer heaven.  
  
But he'd been so enthralled with his new family, with being a father, that he'd missed the signs of Naomi's restlessness, of her insecurities stemming from the fear of a future with a younger but surprisingly stable man.  
  
By the time he'd finally noticed, he was already thinking of Blair as his son and Naomi his wife.  
  
And Blair, more often than not, had begun to call him 'dad'. Unless he was excited. Then it was 'daddy'.  
  
They had celebrated Blair's tenth birthday with a picnic at Golden Gate Park and, following a wonderful day of kite flying, biking and opening presents, he and Naomi had finally gotten a hyper Blair home.  
  
Gault had 'won' the duty of getting Blair into bed that night, a ritual that demanded a game of chase to exhaust the inexhaustible juggernaut. A game that, due to the hyperkinetic energy being exhibited by the new ten-year-old, lasted longer than usual that night.  
  
Eventually Gault had prevailed and a hot, sweaty Blair had been gently tossed into his bed, a story had been read (Blair to Gault) and one tousled head had finally hit the pillow. Gault had leaned down and kissed the soft, warm cheek before going out and joining Naomi.  
  
At midnight, after they'd made love under the stars, in the backyard of his small rental, she'd told him she was leaving.  
  
In the days that followed, he'd talked, yelled, pleaded and begged. But nothing had changed her mind. Five days later, she and Blair were gone.  
  
As long as he lived, Gault would never forget Blair's face as Naomi had told him they were leaving. No words could convey the expression that haunted that young, vulnerable face as the words fell from his mother's lips. There was hurt and pain of course, but there was also a strange maturity marking that expressive face.  
  
At that moment, Blair Sandburg was older than either of the two adults standing before him.  
  
Over the years, he'd maintained contact with Blair, both exchanging cards and letters, with Gault even sending him presents and gifts, including a Swiss Army knife for his Bar Mitzvah. He still remembered the excited phone call from Blair, telling him the knife was now his good-luck charm.  
  
As the years flew by, he and Blair had stayed in contact, visiting occasionally, and Gault had never stopped thinking of Blair as his son.  
  
Three years ago, their communications had dwindled, as much due to Blair's new interest in the Cascade Police Department as to Gault's decision to go into private practice in his chosen field; psychology.  
  
The call from Mexico had surprised him but the request to visit had thrilled him.  
  
Gault checked his watch and was surprised that it was already after eight. He rose, walked to the phone and dialed a number.  
  
You have reached the voicemail of Naomi Sandburg, please leave a message and I'll return your call -- eventually.  
  
"Naomi? Gault. Blair's in trouble. He's here with me, in Sausalito. You know the address. Get here as quickly as possible."  
  
He hung up and headed to Blair's bedroom.  
  
He opened the door slowly and wasn't surprised to see Blair fully clothed and dead to the world. Working quickly and efficiently but with great tenderness, he removed Blair's shirt and jeans, pulled the blanket out from under his sleeping form and covered him.  
  
He closed one of the windows all the way, the other halfway, then pulled the drapes. Before walking out, he stood over the sleeping man.  
  
Blair was almost thirty years old but at that moment, Gault saw only the young boy, a boy that was hurting. He laid his hand on Blair's forehead a moment, brushed away a few stray strands of hair and whispered, "goodnight, son."  
  
*****  
  
The bed, the alarm, the smells -- all strange, different -- wrong.  
  
Jim cracked one eye open and winced.  
  
Metallica was not a practical 'first thing in the morning' vision. He turned his head, opened the other eye and promptly wished that he needed to squint. Squinting to focus had merit. For one thing, one might squint and pray that when one had actually focused, the item being squinted at would look entirely different.  
  
A grinning Simon Banks dressed as Bozo the Clown required squinting. Lots of squinting.  
  
But Jim was a sentinel and needed no squinting and certainly no re-focusing. Simon, AKA Bozo the Clown, would remain just that.  
  
A benefit of Metallica and Bozo this early in the morning was that Jim now knew why everything was wrong. He was in Daryl's room, in Simon's home. And he was in a twin bed. Bones creaked and protested loudly as he sat up and rubbed a hand over his jaw. He stood, stretched and scratched, slipped into his jeans, pulled on the tee shirt draped on the end of the bedpost and walked out into the long hall. He paused, checking for sounds and after reassuring himself that the bathroom was empty, made his way to the small room.  
  
He was only slightly surprised to see his own shaving kit sitting on a shelf above the toilet and he smiled at Simon's thoughtfulness. He relieved himself, got the hot water going, brushed his teeth, swiped a wash cloth over his face, then made fast work of shaving. A shower could wait.  
  
He ran his deodorant stick up under his shirt, capped it and dropped it back into the bag. His current buzz cut required nothing. He gave a last, disgusted look at his reflection, at his bloodshot eyes, shrugged, and left the bathroom.  
  
Food.  
  
Eggs scrambling, toast toasting and fresh-squeezed orange juice and hot coffee. He followed his nose to the kitchen.  
  
"Hey, you're up." Simon smiled and with an elbow, indicated the coffee and the clean mug sitting next to the automatic coffee maker. Jim helped himself, blew on the swirling blackness, then took a wake-up swig. Standing against the sink, he watched Simon butter toast, cut it, then dish up the eggs. He followed him to the small dinette where they both sat and began to eat. Neither spoke as they downed the breakfast.  
  
For Jim, it was painfully reminiscent of those early days with Blair as his 'temporary' houseguest. Especially of a certain morning after Larry's famous escape.  
  
Courtship rituals.  
  
Jim tried to swallow, but the eggs stuck in his throat. He took a quick sip of juice and managed to get the lump of food down.  
  
"Simon, you do have Connor's telephone number, right?"  
  
"Yes. Why?"  
  
"I need to -- she knows, I'm assuming," he paused as Simon's eyebrow rose. "Look, she knows where Blair was staying, okay? I want to go to the hotel, pack his stuff and get it all back where it belongs. Home."  
  
Simon put his fork down and leaned forward, his brown eyes frosting over. "Are you telling me that you didn't know where Sandburg went after he left your place?"  
  
"No. There was no chance -- and we didn't, and that night -- he knew that I knew he'd be at his office, you see?"  
  
"And I suppose you think that packing up his stuff and taking it back to your place will magically bring him home?"  
  
Jim's jaw clenched and he willed himself to relax before answering. "No, Simon, but if he comes home, he'll find a home to come back to."  
  
For a moment, Simon regarded his detective, his friend, gauging his grasp on reality. Satisfied with what he observed in the pale blue eyes, he scraped back his chair and walked to the phone on the wall.  
  
Jim could hear the ringing, then Connor's voice.  
  
"Connor, it's me. Do you have the address of the hotel where Sandburg was staying?" He reached for the pencil hanging from a string and began to scribble as Megan answered. "Thanks, and yes, we're both fine."  
  
Jim tried not to overhear, punched down his impatience and avoided the obvious -- using his senses to see the address Simon had scrawled. His fingers drummed a restless tune on the formica tabletop.  
  
"Right, Monday. And thanks." He hung up and turned to Jim. "Got it. Now what?"  
  
"Now I head over there and get his stuff."  
  
"Don't you mean, we head over there?"  
  
*****  
  
"Do you recognize the address, Jim?" Simon was checking street signs as Jim negotiated the truck through the Saturday morning traffic. At Simon's question, his fingers tightened on the steering wheel and he gave a terse, "Yes."  
  
Simon glanced away from the window to give him the once over. "Care to explain that 'yes'?"  
  
"Stewart Place is east of the University, Simon."  
  
East of the University. Shit. "O-kay. Doesn't mean this 'Lamplighter Inn' is a problem."  
  
"Yes it does. I doubt that it's changed much."  
  
"So you know this hotel?"  
  
"Motel, Simon. Motel. Popular spot for Vice, if you get my drift."  
  
Jim made a left and ten minutes later was pulling into the parking lot of the Lamplighter Inn.  
  
Simon groaned. The Inn was worse than he'd begun to imagine.  
  
As they got out of the truck, Jim asked, "You did say number ten, right?"  
  
Simon gave a distracted nod.  
  
Jim strode into the motel office, flashed his badge and demanded the key to number ten. The clerk, a pimply-faced teen, handed it over as quickly as he could move.  
  
Together, Simon and Jim entered number ten.  
  
The room had been without an occupant for several days and the immediate mustiness of the place was to be expected. But the other odors, the stink of old urine, old sex, vomit and human waste, hit them both hard. Jim was lucky, he could dial it way down. Simon wisely left the door ajar.  
  
The plastic-backed drapes had been closed and Simon had to search for the wall switch and flick it on in order to see.  
  
He immediately wished he hadn't.  
  
The room was no more than either of them expected. Worn furniture, peeling walls, leaking ceiling, cigarette-burned carpet. But the condition of the room, the way Sandburg had left it his last day here -- that surprised them.  
  
The bed was still unmade, blankets on the floor, sheets twisted, pillows pummeled. Whatever sleep Blair had experienced -- had been troubled.  
  
A bottle of Tequila sat on the scuffed and broken nightstand, a cheap bathroom glass next to it. The glass had a fingerful of the liquor remaining. The bottle was almost empty.  
  
Across from the bed sat the ubiquitous dresser and mirror -- except the mirror had been shattered.  
  
Chunks of glass were on the dresser top and floor surrounding the furniture. In the middle of the largest pieces of glass, sat Blair's tape recorder. Broken.  
  
One suitcase sat on the floor next to the dresser and Jim moved cautiously forward and lifted it. The weight of it told him it was full. His eyes took in the rest of the small room and satisfied him that nothing else of Blair remained. Sandburg had obviously taken anything else that had been here when Megan had brought him from the hospital. Double checking, he stepped into the small bathroom.  
  
A used towel on the toilet, no personal items and another broken mirror.  
  
A small window above the toilet told Jim where the Volvo was parked.  
  
As he and Simon left, Jim looked back once and whispered, "Blair." He closed the door softly behind them.  
  
Throwing the suitcase into the back of the truck, he drove Simon around back, silently handed him the spare Volvo key and watched as Simon climbed in, not without some difficulty considering that the car was packed to the rafters with boxes, then started up the engine and backed out.  
  
Neither man looked back as they drove away from the Lamplighter Inn.  
  
*****  
  
Sun.  
  
Swell.  
  
Blair turned away from the jagged edge of brightness that flickered from between the closed drapes. He coughed, shallow at first, but then -- deeper. He heard the ominous rumble from within his chest and tried to take a deep breath.  
  
Damn. That hurt.  
  
He flopped over onto his back and blinked blindly. He had a fever, he could tell. And everything hurt. Every bone, muscle, and nerve ending. Another pain, more metaphysical than physical had taken up roots in his chest, around the heart area. He squeezed his eyes shut.  
  
"Blair?"  
  
Filmy blues shot back open and he squinted. Gault.  
  
"Hey, man."  
  
Willoughby came all the way into the room, a concerned frown telling Blair that he obviously looked as bad as he felt.  
  
"I was getting worried. It's after twelve and not a peep from you."  
  
"Peep." The smile was good, just not great. And it didn't erase the frown.  
  
"May I say, dead men have looked better than you?"  
  
Blair winced, then shrugged. "Hey, if the shoe fits, I should wear it."  
  
Gault sat down on the edge of the bed as Blair scooted over a bit to make room and hitched himself up to sit back against the oak headboard. The movement set him coughing again.  
  
"Blair, that is one nasty cough. Get up, put on your jeans and shirt, I'm taking you to my doctor's office. Now."  
  
"Uh, Willie? I don't usually run to a doctor for a cough. You know?"  
  
Gault smiled at his old nickname. But another coughing fit attacked Blair and he quickly put out his hand to feel Blair's flushed face. "How about a fever? Do you usually go to the doctor for a fever? And congestion that would make the Oakland Bay Bridge at rush hour look empty?"  
  
Blair indicated his backpack with a jerk of his head. "I have medication in my bag. I'll take it and I'll be fine." He started to throw off the covers, but Gault's restraining hand stopped him. "I'll get it, stay put."  
  
Stay put. Shit. Even here. Stay put. Stay put.  
  
Gault rummaged around in the bag and his fingers closed over three rubber-banded prescription bottles. He pulled them out, took off the rubber band and read each label. "Uh, Blair? This is some serious shit, here. What the hell is going on? And none of it has been used!"  
  
"I've been kind of busy. Guess I forgot."  
  
Gault walked back to the bed, handed the bottles to Blair and snorted. "Now that sounds like you. Forgetting. Have you ever forgotten anything, Blair?"  
  
It was the wrong thing to ask. Blair's face shut down like a city during a blackout. He reached out and took the medications and once again, started to get out of bed.  
  
"Stay. I'll get some juice for you. Do you feel like eating anything? Maybe some of that soup you missed last night?"  
  
"Juice would be good and yeah, soup doesn't sound too life threatening. And I am getting up unless you like the idea of your twenty-nine-year-old 'almost' son peeing in your guest bed?"  
  
"Don't forget to flush."  
  
Blair gave a mock salute and swung his legs over the side and stood. And swayed. And fell forward. Gault just caught him.  
  
"Does my widdle boy need help getting to the bathroom?"  
  
"That's bafroom to you, Willy."  
  
Chuckling, Gault helped Blair into the bathroom and a few embarrassed moments later, assisted him back to bed.  
  
"Okay, I realize that twenty-odd years ago, you gave me baths and tucked me in, but this was -- weird." His voice was raspy now and he punctuated his words with another coughing fit.  
  
"Not weird, normal. You needed help, I gave it. Now rest while I get the OJ for those pills. And if you're no better by tomorrow, we go to the doctor."  
  
Blair rested his head back and nodded. He had to agree; he did feel terrible, but he had high hopes for the medicine.  
  
The way he figured it, all his running around in Sierra Verde had left his body and mind so confused and so far behind that only now, as he slowed down, had his body been able to react to the drowning. He could almost hear his body screaming, "AH, HA, we've got you now!"  
  
Not that he cared.  
  
Gault walked back in, carrying a glass of juice, which he handed to Blair. As Blair took it, Gault opened all three bottles and took out the appropriate pills, took Blair's hand, palm up and dropped them in. "Swallow like a good boy."  
  
Blair snorted -- but swallowed.  
  
As Blair finished off the juice, Gault opened the drapes and let the sun in to warm the room.  
  
"Ack! Sunlight. I may turn to ash."  
  
"Very funny. I'm going to make that soup, then we sit, eat and you talk."  
  
Blair wrinkled his nose in disgust, set the glass down and dropped back down under the covers.  
  
*****  
  
The spoon rattled against the empty bowl and Gault smiled. There hadn't been much in the bowl, but he'd finished it all. A good sign. He took the dish and set it on the floor.  
  
"Want more?" At Blair's negative response, he asked, "You ready to talk?"  
  
"Nothing to tell. Just needed some -- space. That's all. A few days away from Cascade, that kind of thing."  
  
"Uh, huh. And the moon is made of green cheese."  
  
"I never believed that, you know."  
  
"I know. But it was fun, huh?"  
  
They both smiled in memory. "Yeah," Blair said softly. "It was fun."  
  
"In all these years, Blair, all our get-togethers, we've never talked about it. About what you felt when your mother -- took you away."  
  
Blair gave a small dismissive gesture and his eyes flicked to the window, to the bay beyond. "What was there to say? I was ten, it happened."  
  
"Do you understand what it did to me? How much I loved you?"  
  
Gault could see Blair's jaw clench as he continued to stare out the window. Blair swallowed hard, choking back the emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. "Yeah, I -- knew."  
  
"But?"  
  
"But -- nothing. Mom was always leaving, or they were. Okay? It's life."  
  
Gault was shocked. Blair couldn't believe that? "No, that isn't life, Blair. People don't always leave. Sometimes, often times, they stay."  
  
Blair could feel the stinging hurt and pain and he willed it down, forced it back where it belonged. He couldn't afford it anymore. It got him exactly nowhere. It got him exactly nothing. "Whatever."  
  
"Blair...."  
  
"I'm kind of tired, maybe a small nap?"  
  
"Okay, you rest. But you should know, I left a message for Naomi. She may show up on my doorstep."  
  
"Gault!"  
  
His loud, surprised croak brought on another coughing fit, this one sending his body surging forward, his lungs straining for air.  
  
With a muttered, "shit," Gault almost ran into the bathroom, filled the glass with water and hurried back. He sat down next to Blair and began to rub his back, soothing words of comfort his only weapon as Blair coughed.  
  
When the coughing slowed, he took the glass and brought it to Blair's lips. "Here, take a sip, swallow slow..."  
  
Blair did as instructed and soon, pale and shaking, he sat back and closed his eyes.  
  
"That'll teach you to yell at me," Gault joked. He received a small, wan grin for his efforts. "You sleep. I'll check in later, see how you are."  
  
Keeping his eyes closed, Blair nodded slowly, then whispered. "Please, call her. Tell her I'm fine?"  
  
"No problem, Blair. Sleep."  
  
He closed the door and walked slowly out to the large living room. Hands in his pockets, he stared out over the Bay.  
  
*****  
  
The nap, like the first one, turned into an all-day sleep, with Blair rousing only long enough to eat some more soup at dinner before hitting the sack again.  
  
By his second morning with Gault, both the congestion and the cough had improved. At least enough so that Gault didn't think the doctor was necessary -- yet.  
  
After a breakfast of Cream of Rice, Blair actually settled on the couch by the huge bay window, one of Gault's mysteries in his lap. Gault puttered about, tidying up that which needed no tidying. He made a couple of calls to his clinic in San Francisco, finished a bit of business, then sat down with his guest.  
  
"Well, at least you look better rested, if not -- completely better."  
  
Blair smiled and put down the book he'd been reading. "I feel -- better. The cough is improving, and not feverish today."  
  
"I should hope so. Those meds are pretty powerful and you've been doing quite a bit of sleeping."  
  
"I'm sorry about that, Willy. You take me in and I spend the first two days ill and asleep!"  
  
"That's okay, Blair, you know that. I want you well. And if being here does that, than I'm happy."  
  
The ringing of the phone interrupted Blair's response and a few minutes later, Gault came back, shaking his head.  
  
"I'm going to have to leave for a bit, a patient emergency. Will you be all right?"  
  
"Of course. Go."  
  
Gault gathered up his briefcase, laptop, slipped on his jacket and double-checked his pockets, making sure he had his keys. Satisfied, he stood over Blair.  
  
"You sure you'll be okay?"  
  
Smiling indulgently, Blair said, "I'm sure. Go -- Dad."  
  
The smile Gault gave him was worth using the word.  
  
*****  
  
As the afternoon wore on, with no one to take his mind from his thoughts, Blair found himself sinking deep into a depression. His guilt, fears and loneliness, along with the thought of a future that didn't include Jim, sent him outside, onto the redwood deck that overlooked Sausalito and the Marina. Wrapped in the blanket from his bed, he dropped down into one of the chaise lounges.  
  
It was a beautiful afternoon, crystal bright, with a clarity that bespoke fall. A slight breeze ruffled through his hair and from below the house, the sounds of laughter and joy floated up. Evidently a late afternoon barbeque was taking place in the home just below Gault's. Rich cooking odors drifted up, but Blair was no longer aware of the sweet and pungent odor of sauce, of meat sizzling on a grill or of family and friends enjoying each other's company. The boats out on the bay were no longer of any interest to him and he no longer saw the sparkling blue of the ocean, or the sun reflected off the water in small, sharp edged diamonds.  
  
He saw only his own dark thoughts, Jim's face as he turned to him on the beach, Alex in his arms and Jim's words as he told him that his trust and faith had been betrayed.  
  
How was it that everything Blair touched turned to dust? How did he always ruin the good things that came into his life? How could he, even for a moment, have put science ahead of Jim?  
  
He wasn't surprised when no answers were forthcoming.  
  
The blanket dropped from the chaise as Blair's eyes darkened.  
  
*****  
  
Jim stepped back and regarded his handiwork.  
  
Blair's bedroom was complete. Everything in its place. He stepped out into the living room, gave a satisfied glance at the repaired windows, then watched as Simon placed a large rock on the bookshelf.  
  
"That goes in here, Simon. And don't ask, I haven't a clue why Blair has a rock."  
  
Simon hefted it in his hand, than brought it up close and studied it. "I know the kid is strange, but this looks like a plain old, everyday rock to me."  
  
Jim chuckled and took the object from Simon's hand. "Knowing Blair, it has some deep metaphysical significance."  
  
Simon had been biting his tongue for two days. Two days as they unpacked and put away. But now, this opportunity was too good. "Knowing Blair, how could you not know what the history is behind that rock?"  
  
Simon's words had their desired effect. Jim froze halfway back into Sandburg's room. He stared at the rock. Then at Simon.  
  
"You never asked him, did you, Jim?"  
  
Jim set the rock down on the shelf in the corner of Blair's room. He stayed there, staring at it, even as Simon came up behind him.  
  
"Well? Am I right? You never asked him?"  
  
"No, I never asked. One doesn't usually have to ask Sandburg those things. He just -- tells you. Fills you with all the minute details until you think your head will burst." The gentle, sorrowful smile on Jim's face told Simon that Jim's words were meant in the best way.  
  
"But he didn't tell you about this rock, did he? Unusual, don't you think?"  
  
Jim's finger ran over the rough edge of the rock facing him as he shook his head. "No, he never -- offered up the story behind this one."  
  
"And you didn't ask."  
  
Jim turned and faced his boss, his friend. "No, I didn't. I don't pry, Simon. It was rough enough having my life poked and prodded, no excuse to do the same with Blair."  
  
"Did it ever occur to you that he might like having his life poked and prodded by you?"  
  
"No, it didn't, Simon. He's a remarkably closed individual, for all his sharing stories."  
  
"Bullshit. He dropped clues right and left and you never bit. He loves you, Jim and if you haven't figured that out yet, you are one sorry son of a bitch."  
  
Jim picked up the rock and almost cradled it. "I do know, Simon. I'm a sentinel, remember? And a detective."  
  
Something dropped from Simon's throat to his heart, then his stomach. "But -- you don't feel the same? That's what this is all about? Why he didn't come back?"  
  
Jim brushed past Simon and sat on the edge of Blair's bed, still holding the rock. He breathed in deeply, taking in what little bit of Blairscent that he could.  
  
"I love Blair. Sometimes so much, I can't breathe."  
  
Simon scratched the back of his head as he frowned at his friend. "You love him?"  
  
Jim nodded hopelessly.  
  
"So, let me get this straight; you love him, he loves you and you're sitting here, on his bed, holding his pet rock as if it were him and he's in San Francisco. Sure, of course, I get it. Typical Ellison and Sandburg."  
  
"For God's sake, Simon! You were there, in Sierra Verde, you saw what I did! How do I undo that? How do I now go to him and tell him I love him? And shit, this is weird, sitting here talking about this with you of all people."  
  
"If this is weird for you, you can imagine how it is for me," he paused, took the rock from Jim's hand and added, "This is what you do, Jim. You take this rock, you go to San Francisco, find this Gault Willoughby, tell him what's what, and then tell Blair you love him and ask him to please explain what the hell this damn rock is all about."  
  
"Sounds too simple. Blair doesn't grasp the concept of simple all that well."  
  
"Your part is simple. His part, well, he can talk all he wants, as long as he tells you about this fucking rock and comes home."  
  
"Right."  
  
*****  
  
By the time Gault drove up his driveway, the fog that had shrouded San Francisco had made its way over to Sausilito and for the last mile, he'd needed his headlights.  
  
He shut down and gazed up at his home. There were no lights on and that worried him. While it wasn't dark yet, the fog had cloaked his hill in a deep, shadowy gray that begged for the bright warmth of interior lighting. He hurried up the walkway and entered.  
  
The moment he stepped inside, he shivered, the cold and dampness of the fog having somehow permeated his home. He glanced around and immediately spotted the source of the chill -- an open sliding door. Blair must have been on the deck and in coming back inside, had obviously forgot to close the slider. Gault hurried to the door, his plan being to close it, then turn on the heat before checking on Blair.  
  
As he neared the door, he could just make out a dark shape in the swirling gray fog.  
  
Blair.  
  
Fuck.  
  
He quickly stepped outside.  
  
"Blair?"  
  
When there was no response, he knelt down beside the lounge chair and placed an arm on the cold hand.  
  
"Blair, it's freezing out here. Let's go inside." As he spoke, he reached for the blanket on the deck and draped it over the still form.  
  
"Blair, please, answer me?"  
  
"It's nice out here, Gault."  
  
Blair's voice was low and without inflection.  
  
"No, it isn't, Blair. It's cold and damp. Do you want to end up in the hospital? This is the worst thing for your lungs right now. Let me take you inside."  
  
"I like it out here."  
  
Gault could conceivably carry Blair inside, but he doubted that the younger man would allow that. So, he went with the flow.  
  
"Fine, we'll stay out here. Hang on while I get warm. Be right back."  
  
He literally ran back inside, grabbed another couple of blankets, put on his jacket, grabbed Blair's and went back out.  
  
"Put this on. Now. No argument."  
  
Blair let him slip the coat over his arms and drape the additional blankets over him, right up to his neck.  
  
"You want hot chocolate, hot tea, coffee or something stronger? And don't say none of the above. You're getting one of them, your choice." He received no answer. Fine. He went back inside and made two steaming mugs of Irish Coffee.  
  
Holding one out to Blair, he ordered, "Take this. Drink it."  
  
The pale hand resting on the wooden arm of the chaise didn't move. Gault set his mug down on the small table and lifted Blair's hand, opened the fingers and placed the mug against Blair's palm, then closed the fingers over the ceramic.  
  
"You either drink this now, or I call an ambulance."  
  
The hand carried the mug to blue lips.  
  
"Blow on it first, it's hot."  
  
The blue tinged lips pursed and blew, then sipped.  
  
For the next few minutes, Gault had to threaten and cajole to get the mug emptied.  
  
"Good. That should stave off pneumonia for a few more minutes. Now, I want to know what's wrong and I want to know now. Talk."  
  
Bundled up as he was, Gault could just see Blair's face. Immobile, pale, the eyes shrouded. His hair was damp with fog, the curls plastered around his face. Slowly, the head turned and shadowed blue eyes looked at him.  
  
"Did you know that I died?"  
  
*****  
  
The world dropped out from under Gault as Blair's words sunk in.  
  
Died. Blair had -- died.  
  
Heart in his throat, he said quietly, "Tell me about it."  
  
Blair's head turned slowly back towards the view of the bay.  
  
"Long story -- short. I made a colossal series of blunders and paid for them with my life. And now, I'm alive again, but have no life. Is that ironic or what? Downright paradoxical, if you know what I mean."  
  
Gault couldn't even begin to understand, let alone appreciate the paradox Blair refered to, but he did understand that the depression Blair had been teetering on the edge of, had swallowed him whole.  
  
"How did you die, Blair?"  
  
"I was -- murdered."  
  
The tone, the unearthly calm behind the word -- murdered, sent chills racing up and down Gault's spine. Small beads of sweat broke out on his upper lip. He didn't say anything, too shocked to question further.  
  
Blair's voice spoke through the fog, pain hiding behind every word, "I hurt someone, you see. I allowed a darkness into our lives, allowed it to hurt the one person I love more than my own life. I betrayed him. And now, it's over."  
  
Tortured blue eyes fixed on Gault. "I had no idea how entrenched in Jim's life I'd become, Willy, and now, I've nowhere to go." He gazed back over the bay and his voice was now a mere whisper as he said, "I thought dying was enough punishment, but I think I'll be paying for my mistakes for the rest of my life."  
  
Gault still didn't understand everything, but one item stood out clearly; Blair didn't hurt people. Especially people he cared about.  
  
The scene at the airport flashed in front of him, the tensions, the unspoken words, Blair's voice as he'd introduced Ellison...  
  
"Jim Ellison. You love Jim Ellison."  
  
Blair nodded, his hooded eyes still staring sightlessly out to sea.  
  
"How could you have hurt him, Blair? What could you have possibly done that would destroy your relationship with him?"  
  
"I forgot him."  
  
Gault shook his head, trying to clear his mind. Blair's words making no sense.  
  
"How could you have forgotten him?"  
  
"I don't know." The words, spoken softly, said that Blair had been asking himself the same question again and again.  
  
"I need more information, Blair. Tell me everything."  
  
The words came out then, halting, choked with pain, with held back tears, but Blair left nothing out, not even Jim's uniqueness. He told it unvarnished, no excuses. When he described the feelings that Jim had been subjected to with regard to Alex Barnes, his voice finally broke and silent tears slid down his cheeks.  
  
"He tried to save her, at the end. But it was too late. and I couldn't help him. I broke whatever bond we had. Whatever chance we had."  
  
By now, Blair's voice was the merest of raspy whispers, the tears leaving damp spots on the blankets to rival the fog. His voice had hitched several times as he related the events leading to this moment and each time, Gault had felt his own tears threaten.  
  
The complexity of Blair's life with Ellison, the project they'd undertaken together, the responsibility of it all, nearly overwhelmed Gault. How had either of them managed all this time? How had Blair known what to do for his friend?  
  
Oddly enough, through all of Blair's words, living vicariously through the events of the last days, a few things stood out clear and unfettered. But first, he had to get Blair indoors. "Blair, would you let me take you inside now?"  
  
Maybe it was the surprise that this was Gault's first response to all that Blair had shared that got the younger man up, or maybe the fact that Gault could care about his health after hearing all that Blair had said, but either way, Blair allowed himself to be led indoors, over to the couch and down, his legs lifted gently and the blankets tucked in around him.  
  
As he coughed, Gault hurried to the bedroom and picked up the medication bottles, measured them out, took the water glass and headed back to the living room.  
  
After making sure Blair took them and drank down the water, he settled beside him, lifting Blair's legs and settling them back on his own.  
  
"I don't have any answers for you, Blair, but I have a couple of observations. A couple of thoughts you might consider." He looked at his son, waiting for some response. The shattered blue eyes lifted, accepting, but not anticipating.  
  
"All right then. First off, I'm stunned by all that you've shared and I'm still swimming my way through it all, but a couple of things did jump out at me. Like, maybe the bond isn't broken at all? Stretched, yes, but not broken."  
  
Blair blinked, but remained quiet.  
  
Gault sighed and decided this was going to be difficult. Very difficult.  
  
"Blair, you've told me a great deal about Ellison over the years and everything you've told me says he isn't quick to trust. He's been hurt and gives his trust slowly. Am I close?"  
  
The slightest expression of acceptance crossed Blair's face as he nodded, then he shut down again.  
  
"Okay. A man who's been through all that Ellison has, is bound to keep his emotions in check. He expects people to ultimately let him down. But he sets impossible standards for himself, yes?"  
  
Again, the nod, this time, more thoughtful.  
  
"So, isn't it possible, given Ellison's background, that while you sit here, full of guilt, that he sits in Cascade, feeling the same guilt? You went after him, he knows that. You left your hospital bed to be with him. And yet -- he finds himself drawn to the woman responsible for your death. He tries to fight it, you try to help, but ultimately, this battle is between Ellison and this other sentinel, correct?"  
  
A small frown creased Blair's forehead.  
  
"Yes -- yes."  
  
Gault found himself nodding in time with Blair's nods, mirroring them. "Yes." He pinched his nose and added carefully, "Blair, you two have been operating from opposite ends of the same pole. Maybe it's time you two met in the middle?"  
  
But Blair was no longer listening. His eyes seemed to be a planet away, his head still nodding, seemingly of its own accord. His lips started to move, but he wasn't talking to Gault.  
  
He was talking to himself.  
  
"But -- Jim didn't do anything wrong. This isn't his fault. I let him down. I'm the one who couldn't help, who left my friend, Jim Ellison, out of the equation. I screwed up. Not him."  
  
Blair's hand began to tap nervously on the armrest, his right leg soon joining.  
  
"I have to talk to him, explain, make sure he knows that he didn't do anything wrong. Have to talk to him now, have to make him see. I let him down, I know that. Oh, god, what if he's alone right now? What if Simon...." Blair stood abruptly, the blankets pooling on the carpet around his feet. He started to the phone, but a cough erupted, doubling him over.  
  
Gault was up and by his side instantly. "Come on, let's get you to bed."  
  
Blair waved him off and pulled away to lurch toward the phone. Gault stopped him long enough to slide an arm around his waist and help him. Blair picked up the phone and punched in the number, then with a shaking hand, held the receiver to his ear.  
  
You've reached 542-6181; leave a message.  
  
His fingers clenched around the plastic as he realized that Jim had changed the phone message -- Blair's message. He dropped the receiver back in its cradle.  
  
As he stared at the phone, he could see Alex's face, Jim's kiss, in the temple, the way he pleaded with her, and held her....  
  
"Fuck." His knees buckled and if Gault's arm had not been around him, he'd have fallen to the floor.  
  
The older man struggled with the suddenly boneless body, finally lifting Blair into his arms, frightened by the sudden pallor and complete loss of awareness. He carried him into the bedroom and set him down carefully, then covered him. In spite of the chalkiness of his skin, his body was warm. The fever was back.  
  
"Blair, can you hear me? You're running a fever again. You're going to need to take some aspirin, okay?"  
  
"You were wrong."  
  
"We'll talk about that later, okay? Right now, we've got to get a handle on this fever."  
  
Blair turned over on his side, away from Gault.  
  
"It can't be undone. Never undone. I destroyed her and Jim's chance at happiness. I was supposed to help them both. He knows that."  
  
The words made no sense but their significance had to take a back seat to Blair's health right now. Gault went into his own bathroom, got another glass of water and brought a bottle of pills back.  
  
He popped open the cap and shook out two Extra-Strength Excedrin. Knowing that Blair would be no help, he knelt on the bed, pulled Blair's pliant body to him, cradled his head and coaxed his mouth open to receive the pills and water.  
  
His brain said to take Blair to the hospital, but instinct said -- wait. He pulled up the reading chair and settled in.  
  
Darkness had finally come to his hilltop but he didn't move, didn't turn on a light. He just sat close, one hand on Blair's arm as Blair mumbled the same words repeated over and over again....  
  
"Can't be undone, never undone."  
  
*****  
  
Jim threw his only piece of luggage into the back seat of the rental car, jumped in and unfolded the map he'd collected from Avis.  
  
He doubled-checked his route, refolded the paper and set it down on the passenger seat.  
  
It had been a simple process, finding Gault Willoughby, and his address. The difficulty had been in getting up the nerve to follow through, as planned by Simon. But here he was, approximately forty minutes from Blair.  
  
He backed out from the stall and headed out.  
  
As he crossed the Golden Gate Bridge, the city of San Francisco behind him and the fog in front of him, he prayed for the words, for the inspiration needed to speak the truth and clear the air between him and Blair. And he prayed for the guts to say three simple words.  
  
*****  
  
Fog presented no barriers to the sentinel as he negotiated the small marina streets or the narrow hill roads that led up to the address he sought.  
  
He made his left into the driveway and parked behind a Lincoln Towncar.  
  
One light shone from within. There was no sense of welcome.  
  
The watchman exited his car and walked up the brick walkway, crossed the small redwood bridge and stopped at the front door.  
  
The sentinel fled, to be replaced by one nervous detective. Jim Ellison raised his hand and knocked.  
  
Inside, Gault roused himself as he realized someone was at his door. He lifted his head from his hand and debated ignoring the visitor. Then he remembered that it could be Naomi.  
  
He stood, bent down, placed his hand on Blair's face and frowned. Still too warm.  
  
He walked through his house to the front door, hit the porch light and prepared himself for his first glance of Naomi Sandburg in over twenty years.  
  
Except -- it was Jim Ellison.  
  
"Mr.Willoughby. Is Blair still here?"  
  
All right, maybe all prayers weren't answered, but this one had been. Ellison had come to Blair. Gault smiled and waved him in.  
  
"Please, come in."  
  
He stepped aside and allowed Jim to precede him. Closing the door, he sent up a thank-you to the heavens above.  
  
"Blair is asleep, Detective Ellison. He's ill." He let that soak in and watched the man that his son loved. The concern that immediately wiped out the granite expression told Gault more than words could have.  
  
"His lungs?"  
  
"Yes, I'm afraid so. He was doing better, but he sat outside today, in the fog and his fever is back. The cough sounds worse too. The hospital gave him several heavy duty medications and I'm plying him with them every few hours."  
  
"You took him to the hospital?" Jim's impatience was obvious to Gault, his body strung tighter than a drum.  
  
"No, I mean the hospital in Cascade, Jim. He had the drugs with him in Sierra Verde, but didn't take them. Everything caught up with him here. As you can imagine."  
  
Cool pale blue eyes met determined green ones.  
  
Gault studied the man in front of him, understood that the detective was sizing him up, but something flickered in the depths of the eyes regarding him and Gault realized it was jealousy. He bit back the smirk.  
  
"Can I get you something to drink? Maybe you're hungry?"  
  
"No, I'm fine. Could you direct me to a hotel nearby? I don't want to wake Blair and I can come back tomorrow morning."  
  
Oh, no you don't, Detective Ellison.  
  
"I have a spare bedroom, Jim. May I call you Jim? You can bunk here for the night." He decided to prolong the explanation of his place in Blair's life. Let the great Ellison mull it over, worry a bit.  
  
"I don't want to put you to any trouble."  
  
"No trouble. Do you have any bags?"  
  
"Yes, one, in the car."  
  
"Well, why don't you get it, and I'll throw something together, food wise, and we can get to know one another a bit. Sound good?"  
  
"Sounds fine. Be right back."  
  
Jim went outside and fetched his bag, thoroughly confused. Who the hell was this man? What did he mean to Sandburg? Was Sandburg in his bedroom? In his fucking bed?  
  
And could Jim Ellison blame Blair Sandburg? Could he undo any of this? Repair any of the damage? Bring Blair home? Fuck this shit. He slammed the door and stalked back up to the house.  
  
*****  
  
The two men ate silently, the 'kitchen sink' omelet hitting the spot for both of them.  
  
As Jim sat in the large kitchen, he had the ridiculous sense that he was in the middle of one of those sensible British comedies that Carolyn used to watch. The ones where everyone is civil in the midst of destruction. Like Cary Grant and Robert Mitchum in The Grass is Greener.  
  
And Blair was what? Deborah Kerr?  
  
Jim snorted into his coffee. More like -- Jimmy Cagney. The squirt.  
  
So, was he Cary Grant? Or Robert Mitchum? How the fuck had that movie ended anyway? Hadn't there been some kind of duel? He put the coffee cup down and decided on bluntness.  
  
"So, how close were you and Sandburg?"  
  
Gault choked a bit, recovered, and sputtered out, "Close?"  
  
"Yeah, close. How close were you?"  
  
Gault appreciated the tense. Were you. Good, Ellison, very good. Put the rival right where he belongs. Except, of course, Gault wasn't a rival.  
  
"Blair and I are very close, Jim. There's no one I care more about." Except maybe -- his mother. But he wisely left that out.  
  
Jim sat back in his chair, feeling hopeless for the first time. "Maybe staying isn't such a good idea. I should go."  
  
He started to stand and Gault said, "I think staying is a very good idea, Jim. I was privileged to almost be Blair's father at one point and I know him. He won't handle it well if you leave without seeing him, or talking to him. And you two really need to talk, don't you think?"  
  
Jim's body sank back into the chair, blue eyes wide.  
  
"Almost his father?"  
  
Gault grinned. "Yes, but I still think of myself as his dad. I was part of his world for over eighteen months. The best eighteen months of my life. He was ten when Naomi -- decided it was time to leave. We've kept in touch. He never mentioned me, did he?"  
  
Jim shook his head, still too dumbfounded to say anything.  
  
"I'm not surprised. He's learned some hard lessons in his life. One being that the people he loves either leave him, or he's taken from them." He favored Jim with one of his more direct looks and asked point blank, "Are you going to leave him, Jim?"  
  
Jim finally found his voice. "Not if I can help it."  
  
"Good. Why don't you let me clean up while you slip into his room? He's still asleep but I'm betting you need to see him, right?"  
  
Jim could only nod.  
  
"Second door on your right as you go down the hall."  
  
*****  
  
Jim paused at the half shut door. Inside, he could hear Sandburg's breathing, could hear the congestion rattling in his lungs. Bad, but not as bad as it certainly could be. He pushed the door the rest of the way open and slipped inside.  
  
Blair was on his side, blankets tangled around his body, one leg on top of the covers, one arm dangling over the edge of the bed.  
  
Jim laid his hand on Blair's forehead and breathed a sigh of relief. Still feverish, but low grade. Blair mumbled something and Jim dialed up his hearing and managed to catch the words.  
  
"Never undo -- can't undo."  
  
Jim knelt down beside the bed and gently shook the arm in front of him. "Blair? Chief? Can you hear me?"  
  
Blair stirred slightly, then his eyes opened.  
  
"Jim?"  
  
"Yeah, buddy, it's me. I'm here."  
  
Blair started to move, but Jim stopped him. "No, stay down. Go back to sleep."  
  
"No, get up...." he tried to rise, but Jim gently pushed him back down. "I'm not going anywhere, Blair. I'm here and I'm staying. In fact, that bed looks pretty comfortable, mind if I slide in?"  
  
"Delirious. you'll be gone in the morning."  
  
Jim smiled gently. "Yeah, delirious. Go back to sleep."  
  
He toed off his sneakers, took off his sweater, slipped out of his jeans, walked around the bed and climbed in behind Blair. He slid his arms around him, pulled him to his chest and decided that this not thinking thing was good.  
  
Tomorrow, Sandburg might kick him out, but tonight, he would hold him.  
  
*****  
  
Sun again.  
  
But this time he didn't squint, didn't try to shut it out, but he did try to move, to get up -- and was surprised when he couldn't. His mind was fuzzy and there was an empty feeling in his soul, but still -- he should be able to get up, right?  
  
He felt the rumble in his chest and let the early morning cough erupt, hearing the congestion breaking up as his body strained against whatever was holding him down.  
  
In the back of his mind, something nicked at him, something about yesterday....  
  
The phone call.  
  
The answering machine.  
  
He shut his eyes tight, forcing back the tears of frustration. That would serve him right, listening to a psychologist, to words of such seemingly rightness that Blair had allowed himself to believe...  
  
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.  
  
Even if the psychologist was Gault.  
  
He tried to move again, forgetting for a minute that he hadn't been successful just moments ago. He found the same resistance but this time, he glanced down.  
  
An arm -- no, not an arm -- Jim's arm.  
  
Jim's arm. Around him.  
  
Blair's eyes widened, flicked away, quickly darted around the room as he reassured himself that he was indeed, still in Sausilito.  
  
He quietly lifted his hand and let one finger touch the warm skin --  
  
"I'm real. I told you that I'd be here when you awoke and I am."  
  
Blair pulled the finger away as if it had just been burned.  
  
"How, where -- who...."  
  
"The great Sandburg -- speechless. And it only took me three years to accomplish this feat."  
  
The great Sandburg was rapidly re- gathering his wits. And somehow, he was finding anger welling up inside of him. Hard cold anger.  
  
Purposefully, Blair lifted the arm still draped over him and dropped it down behind him. Without looking back, he slid out and up, glad that he had on a tee shirt and sweat bottoms.  
  
He was shaky on his feet, and the room swam around him a bit, but by biting down on his lower lip, he managed to stay upright.  
  
In a fought-for neutral tone, he said, "I suppose you could have climbed into my bed anytime in the last three years."  
  
Okay, that jolted him. Well, at least Sandburg hadn't hit him, but other than that, nothing had gone as planned. Not that Jim had ever had a plan.  
  
He turned over, got out of bed and walked over to the chair. He took his jeans from the back and quickly pulled them on, uncomfortably aware of Blair's scrutiny the whole time.  
  
"Getting into bed with you last night seemed the right thing to do -- at the time." He searched for his sweater and found it on the floor behind the chair. Slipping it over his head, he was almost glad that his view of Sandburg was temporarily obscured.  
  
As his head reappeared, he found Blair staring at him with a look of such disbelief that it actually chilled the older man. Because it wasn't the kind of disbelief that said, "hey, man, you're lying", rather it was the kind that said, "are you crazy?"  
  
Three words. That was all he needed. Three words.  
  
He pulled the sweater down and faced his friend.  
  
"Blair, I'm sorry."  
  
Not even close, Ellison.  
  
"Why are you here?"  
  
Try again, Ellison. Three fucking words.  
  
"Because I'm sorry."  
  
Who knew three words could be so damn hard to say?  
  
Blair sat down on the edge of the bed. Sorry? Jim was here because he was sorry?  
  
Somehow, that put everything into perspective for Blair. The unaccounted-for anger was leeched from his body leaving him alone and afloat in a wide, empty sea.  
  
"You have nothing to be sorry for, Jim. Truthfully. Nothing."  
  
Ellison had been unobtrusively searching for his shoes when Blair spoke and the sudden absence of the controlled anger he'd been facing, or any emotion for that matter, brought him back to his friend.  
  
Three words, god damn it. Just three fucking words.  
  
"You don't think my behavior of the last weeks requires an apology? Or perhaps my problem in Sierra Verde?"  
  
Blair wearily shook his head. "No, I don't. Everything was out of your control, Jim. You were being moved by emotions and forces neither of us could begin to fathom. Not your fault."  
  
Jim took a step back toward the bed, with no desire stronger than to shake off this strange apathy of Blair's. Lowering his voice, letting an edge creep in, he challenged, "I ruthlessly threw you out of your home, Sandburg."  
  
"No, you told me to leave your home, Jim. There was an unaccustomed threat, something you couldn't identify and somehow, on a subconscious level, you knew that I was part of that threat. That I'd been in contact with it. With -- Alex."  
  
Blair's voice was so -- tired. Just listening to it, gave Jim a sense of hopelessness.  
  
"Blair, in a time of trouble, I sent you to live in some rathole. I dumped you. Brushed you off as if the last three years didn't count."  
  
"How...?"  
  
"Megan. Simon and I visited the Lamplighter Inn and rescued your luggage and the Volvo."  
  
Blair shrugged. "I've lived in far worse, Jim. Or have you forgotten the warehouse? And the point is, it wasn't you, you were going through something neither of us could get a handle on."  
  
"What, you're saying that I'm not responsible for my actions?"  
  
"You said it yourself, on the -- beach." He stumbled over the word, 'beach' and, for the first time, looked away from Jim.  
  
"And what about the loft? You don't see it as your home? That I kicked you from your home?"  
  
"No, I don't. And no you didn't. Jim, the loft is your home, not mine. You never believed in me or my work, or had faith in me -- and you were right."  
  
Something flickered in Blair's eyes and his expression changed. The look on his face, the look of sympathy was enough to pierce Jim's heart. But before he could respond, Blair went on.  
  
"I think that maybe, after three years, it's time for some honesty between us."  
  
He stood and held his arms out to his side, palms up. "I'll start." Letting his arms fall back to his side, he met Jim's gaze with his own.  
  
"Number one, Alex may never recover, Jim. You have to face that. But I'll do everything and anything I can do to help. Number two; I have no intention of ever turning in my dissertation. I've known that for quite some time, Jim. But, I didn't want," he waved his arm aimlessly about, "this to end."  
  
He took a deep breath and continued. "Number three; I couldn't help you with Alex because I'm thinking that combined with my total ignorance and my own shortcomings, there was an innate failing in me. In this case, I was too angry and too ashamed. And too -- jealous. Which leads to number four."  
  
Blair held Jim's eyes with his own unwavering gaze as he held up four fingers. "Okay, number four -- but it's tied to number two and three. I couldn't leave you, couldn't tell you about not ever finishing the dissertation, and I was jealous because -- well, I love you."  
  
Three little words. Just. Three. Little. Words.  
  
That's all he had to say...  
  
"Blair, I love you."  
  
Okay, four.  
  
Blair let his exhausted body drop back onto the bed as he shook his head and tried patiently to answer Jim.  
  
"No, Jim, you don't. You love Alex."  
  
Ellison stepped closer to Blair, shaking his own head at the complete stupidity facing him. "Is that your minor in psychology talking? Because if it is, we're all damn lucky you only minored in it. And you want honesty? Fine, here's a few of my honest items for you."  
  
He held up his right hand and ticked off one finger. "One, I've loved you for approximately a year and a half. Ever since the Wilkenson Tower fiasco. I think I knew it while I was kneeling on top of that stupid elevator, listening to you murder the Makarena. But I knew for certain when Galileo pushed that button and I heard the explosion."  
  
Blair looked up stupidly and asked, "You couldn't tell me this a year ago? Six months ago? Two months...."  
  
"I get it, Sandburg. And evidently not. And don't ask me why, I don't know. But you know me better than anyone, Blair, you know my problems and you love me anyway." Then he cocked his head and asked, "We're going for real honesty here, right?"  
  
At Blair's stunned nod, he continued.  
  
"All right then, number two, I may have been in love with you for the last year and a half, but I've been in lust with you since you walked out the door to search for Larry. We're talking major lust and very pornographic thoughts about my roommate and best friend."  
  
He took another predatory step towards Blair and ticked off another finger. "Number three, I want to take that journey with you now and I want to jump your bones big time."  
  
Blair's mouth was open, his eyes unblinking as he tried to take in Jim's words. Which left Jim waiting, heart in his throat, vulnerable, no control, at Blair's mercy.  
  
Blair's mouth closed and he blinked.  
  
"Am I supposed to go all goo-goo now? Get all mushy?"  
  
"No, but a hard-on would be nice and you could attempt a tonsillectomy on me. Oh, and Sandburg? I have never believed in anyone or anything except myself -- until you. And as for faith? Well, I have faith in our future, in this sentinel thing and in us, because I have faith in you."  
  
God, how Blair wanted to believe. But those moments on the beach, in the temple. Jim and Alex. The tenderness Jim had shown her, a tenderness never extended to Blair.  
  
He shook his head and kept shaking it, leaving Jim without a clue how to get through to him, how to convince him.  
  
But then -- the pools came back to him. His visions, the light that was -- Blair. His light. His guide.  
  
"Chief, I need you to think clearly right now, to use that brain of yours, okay?"  
  
Something flared in the sapphire depths and Blair nodded.  
  
"Okay. If you were to use one word or phrase to sum up my behavior before Sierra Verde, what would it be?"  
  
"Jim...."  
  
Ellison realized that if they were going to get through this, he'd have to be the guide. A word he'd always appreciated, since hearing Brackett use it to describe Sandburg.  
  
"Please, Chief? Help me out here, okay? What would that one word or phrase be?"  
  
Sandburg rubbed his face as he tried to think back, to organize his mind. Finally, he glanced up. "Territorial, Jim. We already discussed that, at the station."  
  
"Territorial. That's it?"  
  
"Possessive, protective, you wouldn't let anyone in, no one could touch your stuff, everything bothered you."  
  
"And all this after the shooting, right?"  
  
"You know that, Jim. Nothing new there."  
  
"Go with me, here, Chief." Jim turned and started to pace. "Okay, the day you came home and I greeted you with my gun. Why?"  
  
"Jim, I told you, you perceived me as a threat. Isn't that what I've been saying?"  
  
"But why then? Why not in the hospital? Why not when I first came home? Why did I hear the spotted jaguar when it was only you outside the door?"  
  
"Jaguar? Jim, you never told me you heard a jaguar outside the door."  
  
"Well, I did. My hackles rose, my skin began to tingle, and not in a good way and I only knew that I needed my gun, that there was danger outside that door. Now why?"  
  
Blair's hands started to wave about as his shoulders moved with his head. "I don't know, Jim. Unless -- ."  
  
"Unless? Unless what, Sandburg?"  
  
"I was with her, before coming home. At the station, you know? Gave her my card. Her scent must have been all over me. You sensed her."  
  
Jim walked back excitedly, took the chair opposite Blair and leaned forward. "But I pulled a gun, Blair. I pulled a gun. Why? And in the liquor store, I sensed another threat. And in your office, I saw her, at your desk and all I perceived was a threat. To me, to Cascade and to you. And when we went to her place, I was cold, could barely suppress my instincts."  
  
"What instincts? What instincts, Jim?"  
  
"You won't be angry? Won't take it wrong?"  
  
"Oh, you mean, the pull. You felt the sexual attraction. Jim, it's not as...."  
  
"No, you asshole. There was no attraction in that apartment. Come on, Chief, at one point, Alex tried to kill me, would have succeeded if not for Megan. No, the instinct was to -- put you behind me. To protect you. To keep you away from her, to get you out of there as quickly as possible and then to rip out her throat."  
  
He smiled an experimental smile and added, "I didn't want your male bravado ruffled by my admitting that."  
  
Blair leaned forward, his expression warring with his words. "That protectiveness was sorely missing in Sierra Verde, Jim. And the attraction was very definitely there between you."  
  
"I know, and that's what I'm getting at. We," he pointed a finger at Blair, than waggled it at himself, "you and I, we bonded, at the fountain. Our souls merged. Wasn't that what you experienced?"  
  
"Yes," Blair said carefully, wondering where this was headed.  
  
"I didn't imagine that. I was the jaguar and you were the wolf. And we blended into one being for a fraction of a second, right?"  
  
Again Blair gave a cautious nod.  
  
"Okay, what if in the hospital, what if I had wanted to take the trip with you then? What if I'd acknowledged the bond?"  
  
"I don't understand where you're going with this, Jim."  
  
"You keep saying you failed me, well, try this on for size; the sentinel failed his guide. In the hospital, I failed to accept the journey, the bond. Call it my fear response, call it whatever you want, I screwed up. And I changed the rules of the game. What was at first a simple territorial battle, became another kind of journey for me, a more difficult journey, one that I had to take alone."  
  
"And Alex?" Blair whispered.  
  
"The battle between two sentinels became a choice for one -- me. Both of us, Alex and I, were being drawn to the Temple, we know that, but I think it was originally a battle of wills, of strength, but Blair, I had to be led back to the light. And that's why I went to Sierra Verde." He was up again, pacing, looking every inch the panther. "Don't you see, Chief?" he demanded. "In the pools, I made another journey, back to you. But once out of the temple, so much was forgotten, I was wading through so much guilt that once again -- I ignored the message, ignored the journey."  
  
"And now?"  
  
"Now, I want that journey more than anything else. I want both journeys."  
  
One eyebrow rose and Blair asked, "Both?"  
  
"Both. The journey you and I will take as Sentinel and Guide, and the journey we'll take together for say, the next fifty years. The Jim and Blair journey."  
  
"The Jim and Blair journey?"  
  
Jim moved quickly from the chair to the bed to kneel before Blair, not touching him, but his hands on either side of him.  
  
"Yeah, the Jim and Blair journey. The one where we spend all our free time boinking like bunnies, where you move upstairs with me, where we grow old and fat together. The journey where we drive both Simon and Naomi crazy, where you never stop talking and I almost never stop repressing, where I might just be persuaded to actually drink an algae shake and where you occasionally lapse and eat a big, thick, juicy steak. That journey."  
  
"Oh -- that journey. You know, Jim, I never once, in three years, envisioned your use of the word boinking."  
  
Jim gave him his best leer and said, "Blairboinking, a favorite fantasy, until now."  
  
"You're making some pretty heavy assumptions here."  
  
Jim smiled gleefully and nodded. "Yep."  
  
"So this is where I go all mushy?"  
  
"And pliant, don't forget pliant."  
  
"So, just like that, the bond is reforged?"  
  
"Well, we could help it by utilizing the time-honored tradition of...."  
  
"Boinking?"  
  
"That is one time-honored tradition, yes."  
  
"I vote for tradition number two."  
  
Jim leaned back, a suspicious look creeping over his features. "What number two tradition?"  
  
Looking completely satisfied with himself, Blair held out his right hand. "We shake on it."  
  
Pale blue eyes narrowed as the sentinel regarded the offered hand. Then his own satisfied gleam lit up his eyes as he stood slowly and lowered the zipper on his jeans.  
  
"Right, shake. I like that one, Chief."  
  
Blair Sandburg had been through hell and back. He was tired, still sick and his mind was reeling from all that had happened just since waking up that morning. But one look at Jim's face and then watching those fingers lower that zipper --  
  
\-- and he lost it.  
  
His deep, congested guffaws rolled out from his chest as his body dropped back onto the bed, shaking uncontrollably, as his laughter rocked him.  
  
Jim stopped, smiled, and listened.  
  
God, what a great, wonderful sound. His grin widened, his eyes crinkling in mirth, as he let his entire body immerse itself in the laughter of his best friend, his guide, his partner.  
  
Unfortunately, the laughter soon turned to coughing and Jim was by his side, rubbing his back as tears of mirth coursed down Blair's face. Blair brought his hand up to cover his mouth as the coughs tore through him and Jim looked frantically for water. He spotted the half-full glass on the nightstand and quickly reached across Blair.  
  
"Here, take some water, then try to catch your breath."  
  
Blair drank gratefully and, as the coughing and laughter subsided, he looked at Jim and gave a helpless shrug. "Couldn't help it, sorry, really, couldn't help ..."  
  
"Ssh. I know."  
  
"...you pulling down, I mean, and then me shaking... and you saying -- blairboinking and it was all I could do to stay..."  
  
"I know." Jim's grin was back, and as Blair raised a hand and pointed at him, as his words tumbled over one another....  
  
"...sane and -- then the zipper, and all I could see was me..." he hiccoughed, "...shaking hands with -- with -- you know, and saying, "a man's shake is a man's bond..."  
  
...they both lost it.  
  
*****  
  
Shallow pants, heaving chests, two men staring up at the ceiling.  
  
Their laughter had driven them both back and down, arms winding around each other for support as they laughed, but now, finally quiet, Blair found himself tucked into Jim's side, Jim's arms wrapped around him.  
  
Jim turned slightly so that he was gazing down at Blair. "We needed that, uh?"  
  
"I'd say so."  
  
"Chief, are we okay?"  
  
"Hell, after all this, I sure as hell hope so."  
  
"Partners?"  
  
Blair turned his head up and nodded, his eyes bright. "Partners."  
  
Jim took one hand from Blair's arm and wiggled it. Sandburg smiled, lifted his and let his hand slide into Jim's warm, welcoming one.  
  
Still holding tightly, Jim asked, "Partners in all things, Chief?"  
  
"I wouldn't have it any other way, Jim."  
  
Jim let his gaze roam over the incredible face below him as he said, "You know, there is another time-honored way to seal a bargain, Chief."  
  
"Um?"  
  
"Yeah, this." He leaned down and rested his mouth against the rough, fever-chapped lips.  
  
Jim lifted his head and licked his lips. "Mediciny."  
  
"Sorry. Hey, at least I showered yesterday."  
  
"Yep. Shampooed your hair too."  
  
"Well, yes."  
  
Jim let his fingers move through the waves, one finger captured by an errant curl. He watched it, noted the different colors, different shades and asked, "You wouldn't ever cut it, would you?"  
  
"Well, I can't see me with long hair at, say, forty, can you?"  
  
"Yes. I see you at seventy with it still long, like George Carlin, you know? The skinny ponytail, balding up front...."  
  
"The only baldy in this relationship will be you, Oh, Sentinel of the Great City."  
  
"Undoubtedly, but sparse on top means..."  
  
"More to shake below?"  
  
Jim's chuckle vibrated against Blair's temple and he grinned.  
  
"Yeah, way more to shake and more shaking power too."  
  
"Yeah, yeah, in your dreams."  
  
"No, soon, in yours."  
  
"God, the ego in this room."  
  
"Fact is not ego."  
  
"This from a grown man who says, boinking?"  
  
"Uh-huh." Jim's finger was rubbing the hair against his thumb and suddenly he brought it close to his mouth.  
  
"Hey, what are you....JIM! Yuck! Jim, no, Jim, no... UGH... you're --tasting my HAIR!?"  
  
"Ummm, yeah, tastes -- good. Always wanted to do that."  
  
"This a heretofore unknown Jimkink?"  
  
"Um yes." The hair slipped away to drop against Blair's cheek.  
  
"Wet, my hair is wet, Jim. Jimslobber. Oh, um, Jim? My EAR? You want to taste my ear NOW?! Oh, well, yes... right there, um, god, yes, feels good, okay, real good, um -- IN MY EAR!?! EEEP!"  
  
"Um, Jim? Jim? Why don't we... um, oh, that works... I, um... my shirt? Oh, over my hmph, wlsmumph, and why not? Oh, nice throw, Jim."  
  
"You like my chest hair too? -- oh, yeah, you do...yeah, I like that -- aaaaw god, yes... yes, that nipple is a bit more -- ummmm, more -- uh, sensitive... Oh, yeah, sorry, did I hurt you? Good, yes, um, that works, hold me down..."  
  
"Oh... you're moving down... sorry, did I buck you off? Oh, yes, your hands there... um, shit, oh, my sweats and shorts, yeah, gone, bye-bye, 'nother good throw... You're not... oh, you are... you like THAT hair too!? Guess you do."  
  
"Your tongue, just -- there -- aaaw, gaawd... never knew... such a way--with your--mouth... and -- OHGAWD, you fingers... THERE?! yes, more, deeper... coming, coming --"  
  
\-- silence.  
  
The sturdy body bucked again and again, filling Jim's mouth, and he swallowed and wondered about the sudden silence... then he was releasing the spent cock as the hands that had held his head let go and dropped. He looked up to see dreamy, half-closed blue eyes smiling at him.  
  
He crawled back up the spent body and dropped his mouth back down over the slightly parted lips. His tongue darted in, letting Blair taste them both, then out to swipe along the bottom lip, then back in, then out to scrape over the stubbled jaw, down to the delicious adam's apple, then back up to the eager mouth.  
  
"Jim, what -- about you?" Blair managed to gasp out.  
  
"Um?"  
  
That mouth descended again and Blair mumbled into it, "youmph."  
  
Jim lifted his head and looked at the rumpled face, the glassy eyes and the already swollen lips and grinned. "You, I want you."  
  
Blair nodded and rasped, "condoms?"  
  
Jim's face crumbled, then brightened. "Yep, hang on." He jumped up and, as he made his way across the room, he unzipped, stepped out of and discarded his jeans and underwear, then his sweater, letting it drop behind him.  
  
In the corner by the door, his bag sat where Gault had set it late last night.  
  
As Jim moved, Blair watched the wonderful, oddly graceful, impromptu strip act and marveled at the fact that he was the one lying on a bed waiting for someone to find a condom and that that someone was Jim, now gloriously naked, handsome butt swaying. And damn, whether with a male or female, he'd always been the one making the mad, desperate dash for protection.  
  
This was so cool.  
  
A moment later a huge body dropped onto him and he groaned in appreciation. A mouth latched onto his and he moaned out, "Gault..."  
  
"Gone, left early, after checking in on you -- knew you were in capable hands."  
  
"... very capable... hands, mouth..."  
  
"Um... is this healthy for you?"  
  
"Very... very healthy..."  
  
"Feel okay?"  
  
Blair jerked up as Jim's mouth clamped onto his left nipple. "yes... yes... okay..."  
  
"Want to do this? Want me to continue?"  
  
"Stop you die"  
  
"Right."  
  
Jim started to lift Blair's left leg, but the younger man beat him to it as both legs practically leapt up to wrap around his waist, gripping hard and urgent.  
  
Blair's hands were everywhere but Jim needed something else. He captured the much too active hands, wrapped his fingers around the wrists and pushed them over Blair's head. He raised himself up a bit and grinned down at his captive. Much better -- and by the look on Blair's face, much better for him as well. The eyes staring up at him were a velvety black now, with only the minimum line of blue surrounding the darkness.  
  
God, how he'd dreamed of seeing Blair Sandburg like this; below him, wanting nothing but him, needing only him, giving and taking, his breaths coming so fast that one could not be distinguished from another....  
  
He dropped back down, his tongue already flicking out, and the mouth opened to receive even as he positioned himself against Sandburg's rear, felt the welcoming thrust back as Blair's mouth closed over his tongue, as Blair's tongue fought for dominance, and he was sinking in, muscles clenching around him, driving him deeper as Blair moaned against him.  
  
He let go of Blair's wrists and the hands came up, slid under his arms to grip his shoulders, to pull him down, to pull him in. Kisses were rained over his face, his neck, teeth bit down and Jim jerked hard, hitting Blair's prostate in the process, sending the younger man up, a yell escaping.  
  
Jim was pounding now, Blair's legs clenching, his muscles tightening and untightening, driving Jim over the edge and he cupped Blair's head, lifted, his fingers wrapped in sweaty, soft hair and kissed him hard as he fell from the precipice.  
  
*****  
  
"New cure for the common drowning."  
  
Jim's sweaty head was resting on Blair's equally sweaty chest and the words, spoken only with love, rippled over his cheek.  
  
"Better than that fucking merge."  
  
One hand waved aimlessly in the air over Jim's head. "Oh, merges have their place, I suppose. Certainly got me up and around, uh?"  
  
"Yes, it did do that."  
  
Blair's fingers were scraping up through the back of Jim's head, moving across his scalp.  
  
"No, you did that. You got me up and going. The merge was just window dressing. Probably to satisfy my weird bent."  
  
"You definitely have a weird bent. But it felt -- good, moving through you like that."  
  
"As good as...."  
  
"No, not as good, but good. In a different way."  
  
"In a weird bent kind of way?"  
  
Jim licked Blair's chest. "I love bent."  
  
*****  
  
Gault let himself into the house, listening for any sounds that indicated his houseguests were up and about.  
  
Nothing.  
  
He walked quietly through his home to come to a stop before Blair's bedroom door. He hesitated, but hearing nothing from inside, pushed it open a bit and had to bite back his surprise.  
  
Legs and arms, wrapped around each other, two bodies indistinguishable, from one another, quiet breathing...  
  
...he closed the door and walked away.  
  
He didn't feel the least bit guilty about looking, either.  
  
*****  
  
Jim disentangled himself and sat up. He swung his legs over the edge and stared out the window.  
  
Sunset.  
  
He and Blair had been in bed all day -- literally. And he desperately needed a shower. He wrinkled his nose and grinned.  
  
Ripe, very ripe.  
  
He stood, gazed down at Blair and just -- kept looking.  
  
His breathing was good and the fever was gone. He looked -- like some sort of satyr. Only all man, no goat in sight. He grinned again. God, he's beautiful.  
  
All hair, muscles, his soft cock surrounded by more curly hair, pale skin broken by Jim's teethmarks and fingerprints, lips swollen and slightly red, chest rising and falling evenly, with only the occasional hitch that bespoke the bit of congestion remaining.  
  
Jim tore his gaze away and walked into the bathroom. He started the water, waited until it was the right temperature and stepped in. He soaped up, rinsed off and for a few moments, let the water sluice over his body.  
  
He shut off the faucet, grabbed a towel and stepped out. After rubbing himself down, he checked the mirror and wasn't surprised to find his own body nicely marked. And unless he was badly mistaken, he even had a heel print on his upper back.  
  
A lifetime of this. He had a lifetime of Blair Sandburg.  
  
Jim Ellison had finally come home, had finally found what he'd lost.  
  
He took two washcloths, wet them in warm water, grabbed two large dry towels and walked back into the bedroom.  
  
He knelt down on the bed and began to gently and tenderly bathe the still sleeping man. As he ran the washcloth up the inside of Blair's left thigh, a sleepy voice said, "mm."  
  
"Mm, what?"  
  
"Feels good."  
  
Jim kept up the motion of bathing, swiping the cloth gently over skin as Blair watched from under half-closed lids. He watched the tender movements, the way Jim's expression changed as he worked, the way love, so many facets of love, skittered across the handsome features and Blair knew.  
  
Jim loved him. Deeply.  
  
The tenderness he was exhibiting was as far removed from what Blair had seen given to Alex as to be night and day.  
  
"You were trying to save yourself," he said in wonder and sudden clarity.  
  
Jim was drying him now and barely glanced up. "What?"  
  
"You, you were trying to save Alex, but you were really trying to save yourself. You were afraid, afraid that it could have been you."  
  
"I thought we already established that, Einstein."  
  
He folded the towels and set them on the floor, the washcloths on top.  
  
"We established that you each made choices, that she lost her way, but it was more, in the temple. So much more."  
  
The sun's last hurrah was playing over the skin that Jim had just bathed and he let his eyes have his fill as he answered.  
  
"Yes, you're right. If I could save her, any way I could, then someone could save me."  
  
Blair sat up, shattering the play of light over his body. He was suddenly real, his warm hand on Jim's arm. The older man glanced down at the hand.  
  
"You could never be her, Jim, don't you know that? No one needs to save you. No one will ever need to save you."  
  
"You're right about one thing, Chief. No one will need to save me now. Thanks to you. I know my path and I take it gladly, as long as you walk it with me."  
  
"No other path, man, no other path."  
  
*****  
  
Gault stood at the stove, stirring the pasta. He'd heard movement from the rear of the house over twenty minutes ago and had immediately headed into the kitchen to get the food ready.  
  
In the blender next to the stove, sat the walnut pesto and in the oven, garlic bread. He had a cutting board of fresh fruits and sliced cheese ready for the moment his guests made an appearance.  
  
He plucked up a noodle, bit into it and nodded, then lifted the pot, carried it to the sink and dumped the contents into the colander.  
  
"Hey."  
  
He looked over his shoulder to see Blair, in sweats and a sweater, a sweater that was just that much too large for him, standing in the door, Jim Ellison behind him.  
  
"You guys finally decided to get up?"  
  
They both moved into the kitchen, Jim to the cheese board, Blair to Gault's side.  
  
"Yep and it looks like you're ready for us, dad."  
  
"You all hungry?"  
  
Blair leaned over his shoulder and smiled. "Happily starved. Anything I can do?"  
  
"Take out the garlic bread and drop it in the basket over there?"  
  
"Got it."  
  
The two men worked quickly while Jim munched cheese and watched. His curiosity was killing him, but any questions about Gault and his relationship to Blair could wait until they'd satisfied the other hunger, the one that had finally driven them from the bedroom.  
  
A few minutes later the bread, pasta and what was left of the cheese and fruit were out on the deck and all three men set themselves the task of making the food scarce.  
  
As Gault shoveled a forkful of pasta into his mouth, he mumbled, "Did you take your meds?"  
  
"Don't talk with your mouth full, Willy. And yes."  
  
Gault nearly choked as he swallowed and sputtered out, "good."  
  
Jim grinned.  
  
Wiping his mouth, Gault put on his best stern look and aimed it at Blair. "Very funny, Blair and you do look better."  
  
"Yep. It's all in the medication, Willy."  
  
This time, Jim choked.  
  
"Yes," Gault said, as he unleashed his stern look on Jim, "I'm sure."  
  
Jim managed to ask, "Willy?"  
  
"A nickname I gave him. You know, Willoughby?"  
  
"Ah, got it. Willy."  
  
"Hey, Willy, any dessert?"  
  
Gault gave the empty plate in front of Blair a disbelieving look and shook his head. "You appear to have your appetite back."  
  
"Yep, meds you know. Now, any dessert?"  
  
Gault got up, walked back into the house and a moment later, returned with his hands full. He set the large bowl down in the center of the table and said, "Dig in."  
  
"Oh, man, Strawberry Trifle?"  
  
Gault didn't have to answer, Blair was already pushing the spoon in and dragging out a huge lump of liquor laden sponge cake, vanilla custard, strawberries, bananas and whipped cream. He plopped it down in one of the bowls that had been sitting at the edge of the table and pulled it toward him. Without further ado, he dug in.  
  
Jim and Gault watched, both amazed. For Gault, this was not the brain- and body-sick man that he'd picked up at the airport and for Jim, it was the Blair of old. His Blair.  
  
Blair stopped long enough to look up and say, "Aren't you guys going to have any?" He waved his spoon in Gault's direction and added, "Jim, Willy makes the best Strawberry Trifle. Ya gotta try it."  
  
Jim gave a happy shrug and helped himself.  
  
*****  
  
"Feeling better now?"  
  
Blair looked away from the lights of the Marina and nodded at Gault. "Very. Stuffed to the gills, thank you very much."  
  
All three of them sat on the deck, hot Irish coffee warming them as they watched the few boats still out on the bay. The evening was fog free but the lights of San Francisco were shrouded in the gray stuff, with half of the bridge disappearing in the swirling mass of wet mist.  
  
The jangle of the phone from inside got Gault up and moving. As he walked past Blair, he placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.  
  
They heard him answer, then Jim said, "I like him, Chief."  
  
"He's great."  
  
"How old were...."  
  
"Eight and a half when Mom met him, ten when Mom left him."  
  
Jim could hear the sorrow in his voice where no one else would have. He looked back over the bay and said quietly, "Must have hurt."  
  
"Yeah, yeah it did. I was really starting to think of him as my dad. Like, forever, you know?"  
  
Jim's hand dropped down over Blair's and he squeezed.  
  
"I never let any of them get close to me after that. Not worth it. I went to the games with them, let them woo me, to get to Mom, but that was it."  
  
Jim could so easily understand. And hearing Blair talk like this, sharing with him, meant more to him than anything else Blair could have done to show his love. Which reminded him. He let go of Blair's hand and stood.  
  
"I brought something with me, don't go anywhere, okay? Be right back."  
  
"I would go where, exactly?"  
  
"Just don't move."  
  
"Right, stay put."  
  
"Damn straight."  
  
"Not by a long shot."  
  
Chuckling, Jim went inside but stopped dead when he caught sight of Gault who was frozen by the phone, hand still resting on the receiver.  
  
"Gault?"  
  
"She's here. On her way."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Naomi." Gault turned to face Jim. "I haven't seen in her in twenty years. And she's on her way."  
  
The man was still in love. Still fucking in love with Naomi Sandburg.  
  
His trip to the bedroom would have to wait awhile. He had no doubt that Blair would need to be as prepared for this meeting as Gault wasn't.  
  
"I'd better tell the man outside. How long do we have?"  
  
"She's coming from the airport."  
  
"Right. The way she drives, we have over an hour to batten down the hatches."  
  
Jim hurried out to the terrace.  
  
"Hey, guess who was on the phone?"  
  
"Um, Simon?"  
  
"Nope, worse."  
  
"Worse than Simon yelling at you to get your butt back to Cascade?"  
  
"Way worse, or better, depending on your point of view."  
  
"Shit. Naomi."  
  
*****  
  
"You didn't call her back." It was a statement, not a question and Gault, looking as though he were about to have a root canal, nodded glumly.  
  
They were sitting in the living room, staring at each other.  
  
"Well, this is all your fault then. May the blade of her wrath fall swiftly and may it be a clean slice."  
  
"Thanks, Blair. Your love and concern is truly appreciated."  
  
Jim looked from one to the other, a question in his eyes. "Okay, what am I missing here?"  
  
"Naomi doesn't know that I've been in touch with Gault over the years."  
  
"Oh, boy. You know guys, maybe I should call Simon -- fill him in -- call him from, say, Oakland. Yeah, Oakland. Or maybe I'll take a drive to Bodega Bay. Always wanted to see the place, ever since The Birds."  
  
"Move and you're a dead man, Ellison."  
  
"No, really, I should call Simon. Honest."  
  
"Honest my foot. Sit down and shut-up and just remember, you're now her son-in-law, sort of."  
  
"Damn."  
  
"You said it, buster."  
  
The three men waited.  
  
The silence was deafening, so Jim decided to end it.  
  
"So, Gault, how long have you lived here?"  
  
"Well, Jim, about seven years now."  
  
"Made a few improvements, have you?"  
  
"Yep. Added the deck three years ago, and re-did the walkway two years ago. Rebuilt the kitchen right after I moved in."  
  
"Did the work yourself?"  
  
Gault nodded as he looked nervously at the door. "Bit of a handyman, actually. In fact, that's what I was doing when Naomi and I met. Working my way through college, building add-ons, decks, closets, doing plumbing, you name it."  
  
"Gault's a psychologist, Jim."  
  
Jim gave Blair a surprised look and arched one eyebrow.  
  
"Yes, that's why the minor in psychology, among other reasons."  
  
Gault tore his eyes from the front door to smile fondly at Blair. "You'd have made an excellent psychologist, Blair."  
  
Jim latched onto that like a dying man grabbing for a life preserver.  
  
"There's an idea, Chief. The department could use...."  
  
"No. And we'll talk about it later."  
  
Now it was Gault's turn to look from one to the other. "Okay, now what have I missed?"  
  
"Nothing, Willy, nothing at all."  
  
"He's not going to...."  
  
"Yes, I am, Ellison. And I said, we'll talk about it later."  
  
Jim Ellison was no fool. He shut up.  
  
And the doorbell rang. All three men jumped.  
  
"Yes, well, answering that is probably best, uh?"  
  
"I'm afraid so, Willy. But know this, we're both here for you. We won't get in her way, but we're here for you."  
  
"Thanks, Blair and you're in for it too, you know."  
  
Blair gave a charming shrug and quipped, "Nah, I'm her beloved only child. I'm immune. She'll blame you for everything." Then he glanced at Jim and grinned wickedly. "And Jim, of course," then he gave a little sing-song, "Ha-ha."  
  
Gault gave Jim a look that clearly said, You want to kill him or should I?  
  
"You know, Gault, maybe you and I should make ourselves scarce and let wonder boy here handle Naomi? What do you say?"  
  
"Have I shown you my woodshed? Where I do all my work?" At Jim's shake, he motioned with his thumb and said, "Come on, let's go."  
  
Blair was left alone just as Naomi's finger hit the doorbell again -- and stayed there.  
  
Groaning and mumbling something about big, buff, brave sentinels and cowardly psychologists, he answered the door.  
  
"Mom. How are you?"  
  
Naomi swept in, eyes darting around the room as she said, "Don't get smart with me, young man. Where is he and what's wrong?"  
  
*****  
  
"....so you see, everything is fine now. I'm fine, getting better every minute, Gault is fine, if a bit of a coward, and Jim, who will soon be discovering that payback really is a bitch, is also fine."  
  
"I see. And the reason for never telling me why you and Gault were in communication all these years would be?"  
  
They were sitting by the fire, Naomi's legs curled under her. Blair sat beside her, their fingers entwined. He'd succeeded in giving her the abbreviated version of the last several days and now he gave his mother a piercing look and said quietly, "I think you know the reason, mom."  
  
Her gaze penetrated his and slowly she nodded. "I guess I do. I really blew it with Gault, didn't I?"  
  
"Only you can answer that, Mom."  
  
"You're sure you're okay?"  
  
He nodded, leaned over and dropped a kiss on her cheek. "Never better. And I won't be moving out of the loft anytime soon. Just thought you should know that."  
  
"Honey, come on. I know you two are friends, but you're almost thirty. Surely...."  
  
"I'm never moving out."  
  
The light from the fire flickered over his face, deepening the shadows around his features, adding new dimensions to the angles and planes of his handsome face. His blue eyes glittered in the firelight and Naomi saw it. She couldn't miss it.  
  
"I see."  
  
He waited a heartbeat, then asked, "You okay?"  
  
"Yes. And maybe -- envious."  
  
"It's not too late, Mom."  
  
*****  
  
Gault and Jim snuck back into the house and were making their way stealthily down the hall when Blair's voice piped up, "The coast is clear, all explanations given and Mom's waiting for you, Willy. In the living room. I made a fire."  
  
Jim put his hand on Gault's back and said, "Face her like a man, my friend."  
  
"Said by a true coward, Jim."  
  
"Yes, well, I think I'll just leave you two and go out and face Naomi."  
  
They watched him walk down the hall, then Blair grabbed Jim and yanked him into the bedroom.  
  
*****  
  
Blair unraveled himself from Jim's body and got up. He was hungry. He must really be getting better. He padded over to the door, remembered his naked state, looked around, spotted Jim's robe, slipped it on, belted it and went out into the hall.  
  
As he walked soundlessly down the hall, his mother, dressed in one of her long, flowing nightgowns, came around the corner from the direction of the kitchen. In her hand she carried two steaming mugs of coffee. Blair came to a dead stop.  
  
"Hi honey. hungry?" Her voice was low, almost a whisper.  
  
Mutely, he nodded.  
  
"Okay. don't eat too much, you'll get heartburn this late."  
  
He nodded again, his mouth hanging open. She bussed his cheek and continued down the hall toward Gault's room. She opened the door and disappeared inside, but not before giving her son a gentle smile.  
  
No longer hungry, he made his way blindly back to his room, peeled off the robe, let it drop to the floor, stubbed his toe on the chair by his side of the bed and, while he silently jumped up and down on one foot, biting down on his lip to keep back the yell, Jim whispered, "hurt something important?"  
  
"I don't know," Blair hissed between gritted teeth. "You have a new kink regarding my big toe?"  
  
"Well, now that you mention it."  
  
"Geesh, get a grip, Ellison."  
  
"Just as soon as you get that big toe into this bed."  
  
That did it. Laughing hard, Blair fell over with a loud thud, and even his landing on the floor did nothing to squelch the laughter.  
  
Head on his hand, Jim watched his significant other laughing his fool head off, enjoying every minute of it.  
  
As the laughter died, Blair fell back against the floor, completely out of breath.  
  
"Man, you slay me."  
  
"Good, keeps the romance alive."  
  
"Yeah, romance," he snorted.  
  
Jim kept watching as Blair's breathing evened out.  
  
"Mom is in Willy's bedroom."  
  
"Where's he?"  
  
"She was carrying two mugs of coffee."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Jim waited. Blair rolled to his side and mirrored Jim's position.  
  
"What do you suppose it means?"  
  
"She's your mother, Chief."  
  
"Right. So it means exactly -- nothing."  
  
"I haven't known Gault very long, but there is no way that man would have Naomi in his bed for nothing, Chief."  
  
"Good point."  
  
Jim waited again.  
  
"So maybe, this is something?"  
  
"Could be, Chief."  
  
Blair flopped over on his back.  
  
"Uh, Chief?  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Ever think about getting into bed? Nice, soft, not too firm, just right."  
  
"Oh, yeah. Coming now."  
  
"My two favorite words, Chief."  
  
Blair chuckled as he climbed in next to Jim and found arms pulling him down immediately.  
  
"Who knew that James Ellison had only one thing on his mind all this time?"  
  
"James Ellison, for one, now let me see that big toe...."  
  
"Awgodjim, you'resuckingonTHAT!?"  
  
*****  
  
The following morning had the hall of Gault's home looking a whole lot like a revolving door.  
  
First, Jim stumbled his way into the kitchen for coffee then, as he made his way back to the room, Gault came out of his room, eyes bleary, but looking like a man who'd just had his fondest dream come true.  
  
Jim silently saluted the man with his coffee mug.  
  
A few minutes later, Blair came out, complaining bitterly that the honeymoon was over and that Jim was one selfish dickwad, only to run into Gault, who was coming back with two cups of tea.  
  
The two men stopped in the hall and Blair said, "Gault?"  
  
Gault said, "Blair?"  
  
The bedroom door opened and Naomi's voice floated out....  
  
"Willy? Honey?"  
  
Gault handed his tea to Blair and said, "Here, you need this more than me. I'll share Naomi's."  
  
"Gee, Dad, thanks."  
  
Gault disappeared into his room. Blair took a thoughtful sip of the hot tea and promptly scalded his tongue.  
  
Hand waving over the stuck out appendage, he re-entered his room.  
  
"What did you do now?"  
  
"I burnt my tongue, you heartless bastard."  
  
"Oh, god, not your tongue!"  
  
"You shit."  
  
"You want to let me kiss it and make it better?"  
  
"Fuck."  
  
*****  
  
"Wanna go eat?"  
  
"Nuh-uh."  
  
"Good."  
  
"What are they making?"  
  
"Pancakes."  
  
"Um, maybe."  
  
"Nuh-uh. They'll be all goo-goo eyed. You know, eating off each other's plates, using silly nicknames, the usual."  
  
Naomi nestled deeper within Gault's arms and shook her head.  
  
"Nope, not my Blair."  
  
*****  
  
Blair's fork snuck under his newspaper and speared a piece of syrupy pancake from Jim's plate as a hand came out from behind the sports page to smack him.  
  
"Make some more, you shit."  
  
"You're not gonna finish, stop being such a dick."  
  
"I am going to finish. Make some more."  
  
"You are not. You always leave five pieces on your plate."  
  
"Do not."  
  
"Do too."  
  
Jim pushed the plate over to Blair.  
  
"Knock yourself out, Chief."  
  
"Gee, thanks."  
  
He let the paper float to the floor and finished off the other four pieces then smacked his lips.  
  
Jim folded his section of the paper and set it down. "You think there's enough batter left for -- your folks?"  
  
"Hey, I like that. My folks. Cool."  
  
"Well, is there?"  
  
"You're the sentinel here, is there?"  
  
"To the moon, Sandburg, to the moon."  
  
"Yep, that's where I sent you last night, several times if I recall."  
  
"Pipsqueak."  
  
"Sticks and stones...."  
  
"Yadda, yadda."  
  
Jim took a sip of his coffee and decided now was the time.  
  
"So, about your doctorate."  
  
"What about it?"  
  
"Well, what happens when we get back to Cascade? Or haven't you thought about it?"  
  
"I think about it plenty. I think about what Simon will say, if he'll let me continue to ride along with you, be your back-up, but we won't know until we tell him, will we?"  
  
"Blair, I don't want you to give up your doctorate. You've worked your whole life for that."  
  
Blair's coffee cup was put down as he stared at Jim. "What makes you think I'm giving up my doctorate?"  
  
Jim blinked a couple of times, then stammered out, "uh?"  
  
"Nicely put, Jim. I'm still going for my doctorate, just not with my dissertation about a certain sentinel who shall remain nameless -- Jim."  
  
"Don't tell me you're doing your diss on the thin blue line thing?"  
  
"Nope, I'm not."  
  
Jim gave an impatient jerk and followed it up with, "We-ell?"  
  
"I changed over about six months ago -- got permission, it was a bit hairy, but Claude, my new advisor backed me up."  
  
Impatient sentinel fingers tapped relentlessly on the oak table.  
  
"I'm doing my dissertation on -- "  
  
"ON?"  
  
"What I'm calling the Blessed Protector Phenomenon."  
  
"The Blessed Protector Phenomenon?" Jim squeaked out.  
  
"Yeah, you know, that special something that can be found to such a high degree in certain individuals that makes them need to protect. Like firemen, policemen...."  
  
"Like -- me."  
  
"And Simon. And Megan and Joel. And you know Cliff Rains from Station Three, and Earl Gaines, and your cousin, and...."  
  
"And you."  
  
"No, Jim, I have a need to protect only my immediate tribe. You, and others like you, need to protect the unknown. And you're not all sentinels. It's just so much stronger in sentinels."  
  
"You don't think you're protecting the unknown by protecting me?"  
  
Blair looked up in surprise. "Protecting you?"  
  
"Don't you?"  
  
"Yeah, I just didn't think, I mean...."  
  
"You didn't think I knew?"  
  
Blair looked away and fidgeted a bit in his seat.  
  
"I knew, Blair, I knew."  
  
Jim pushed away from the table and stood.  
  
"Which reminds me. I have something to show you. Be right back."  
  
"Haven't we already had this conversation?"  
  
"Hang on."  
  
He hurried back to their bedroom and grabbed the rock from his bag.  
  
Walking back into the kitchen, he set it in front of Sandburg.  
  
"Okay, explain."  
  
Blair stared down at the object in front of him.  
  
"Um, Jim, why is my rock on the kitchen table?"  
  
"Because I brought it with me?"  
  
"Uh, huh. Jim, why did you bring my rock with you?"  
  
"Because, well, Simon, see, he, um, well, he said I should ask you, see?"  
  
"Ask me," he gave his head a little jiggle as he finished with, ""wh-at?"  
  
"You know -- why."  
  
Expressive shrugs were Sandburg's forte. He used one now.  
  
"You know," Jim said helplessly.  
  
"No-oo, what?"  
  
"Well, Simon and I, I mean, Simon, kind of wondered -- you know? Whyyouhadapetrock."  
  
"This is not a pet rock, Ellison. This is real."  
  
"Uh-huh. So -- why?"  
  
Jim moved around Blair and took his seat, arms crossed on the table.  
  
Blair gave the rock a small, half smile and ran his finger over the rough top. "See here, Jim? See all the colors? I once tried to identify every color and every shade. Bet it'd be easy for you, huh?"  
  
"Yeah, Chief, I can see all the colors and every possible shade of any color. They're almost alive. To me, it's a beautiful piece of nature."  
  
"Yeah," Sandburg said softly. "And it's magic too. Gault said so."  
  
"Gault."  
  
Blair lifted his eyes to his Sentinels and grinned. "Yeah, Gault. Two days before -- mom and I were to leave -- he came into my room and sat down on the bed. I was curled up, refusing to come out for breakfast and he set this down and said, "Here, Blair, something to remember me by."  
  
"Okay, I might have chosen something a little more...."  
  
"Practical, Jim?"  
  
"Yes, practical. Like a photo or something like that."  
  
"Well, I had plenty of photos." He turned the rock around and went on. "Gault asked me turn it over and look at it. He showed me all the colors, the crevices, the edges, made me count each jagged edge and each smooth edge and I couldn't. Every time I thought I was done, he'd point out another one. Every time I thought I'd spotted the last color, there'd be another one."  
  
His eyes had gone back to the rock, his hand smoothing over it, slowly, lovingly. "Then he said that no matter where I went, or how many years passed, he'd be there. Like every ridge, edge, smooth or rough, every color. That no matter how hard I tried, I could never find every edge and that was how much he loved me. I didn't understand it then, but later, I knew. Then he said that no matter how much was hidden within its depths, as a whole, it was solid, a rock. Like people."  
  
He looked up again and Jim couldn't miss the brightness in his eyes as he said, "I didn't understand that either. But after I met you," he grinned broadly, "I understood perfectly."  
  
"I knew I liked that man." Jim picked up the rock and studied it intently. Finally, "You know, even for me, I can't see it all. But I'm -- learning."  
  
"Learning, Jim?"  
  
"Yeah, learning to look with different eyes. I figure it would take even a sentinel a lifetime to find all the treasures hidden within the depths of this rock."  
  
"Jim, speaking one rock to another, ditto."  
  
*****  
  
Naomi and Gault finally made a sheepish appearance around noon. Jim and Blair were out on the patio, taking in the sun when Naomi stepped out onto the deck.  
  
"Morning, or should that be afternoon?"  
  
Blair rose from his chaise and gave his mother a quick hug, then pulled out a chair and watched as Naomi sunk down gratefully.  
  
"Gee, Mom, you and Gault do a lot of talking last night? And this morning?"  
  
"Don't get smart with me, young man. And for your information, we did a great deal of talking, thank you very much."  
  
Blair straddled the chaise, facing his mother and leaned forward, his interest carefully hidden by the humorous expression on his face. "So, talk about anything important?"  
  
Naomi glanced down at her hands and making a motion of flicking an imaginary item from her arm, she said, "I guess you could say we made a few -- decisions."  
  
"Like?" He tried to keep his voice light, keep the grin in place, as if they were just playing a game, but Jim, who'd been watching the whole performance, heard the undercurrent of near desperation in Blair's voice. He held his breath.  
  
"Well, I'm going to be staying here -- for a while."  
  
She finally looked up at her son, and suddenly, with that one look, her eyes more open, revealing more than Jim had ever seen, the pretend game ended.  
  
"I think, Blair, that maybe there's a chance for Gault and I. Maybe. I feel only a calm," she tapped her chest, just over her heart and added, "here. And a peace. In forty-seven years, I've never felt that. Never. Always the push to move, the urge to run. But last night, last night, nothing. Just warmth and love, and so much -- peace."  
  
On the word peace, her breath left her in a quiet exhale and her body seemed to relax further into the chair as she smiled at her son.  
  
"A feeling, I suspect, with which you are very familiar, Blair?"  
  
Blair gave a quick glance back at Jim and then back to his mother. "Yeah, Mom, I've experienced a variation of that sense of peace for the last three years. But lately, it's deepened considerably."  
  
"Hey, anyone hungry? I just ordered pizza!"  
  
Gault stepped out and immediately walked up behind Naomi to rest his hands on her shoulders. She made no overt motion that recognized his presence but neither Jim nor Blair missed the way her body leaned into the back of the chair, or the way her face immediately softened.  
  
"Pizza sounds great to me. How 'bout you, Chief?"  
  
"Sounds -- just -- perfect." But he was staring up at Gault when he answered, his face alight, his eyes bright. Gault returned the smile with a wide, loving smile of his own.  
  
*****  
  
Jim pushed open the door to #307 and was immediately bumped into their home.  
  
"Hey, watch what you're doing, Sandburg. You don't want to bruise the merchandise, you know?"  
  
A rough guffaw was his only answer. He stepped back as Blair moved past him to enter.  
  
Blair had been walking into #307 for almost three years and it had been home. But now, as he gazed about him, found every single item of his back in place, he knew that it was Home.  
  
Capital H.  
  
He breathed it in and would have sworn to anyone that it even smelled differently.  
  
Home. He'd finally, truly and completely found it. And he wasn't alone. His mother had found one too.  
  
They'd left Naomi and Gault two days after the impromptu pizza party, but not before several calls had been placed to Simon. A rock had been explained during one call, and decisions shared. Jim had been able to hear the relieved breath that Simon had released and he'd heard the near panic, followed by excitement as he'd explained Blair's new dissertation.  
  
Final calls assured both Jim and Blair that Blair's observer status was safe, and that Simon was working on a way to bring Blair aboard as a true and official consultant.  
  
As in paid.  
  
Blair had huffed and said he wouldn't be holding his breath.  
  
But now, now they were home.  
  
"Hey," Jim whispered as he came up behind him, "wanna go upstairs and christen our bed?"  
  
"Oh, yeah."  
  
They moved up slowly, both aware only of the other, their arms around each other, tugging, laughing softly, eyes never leaving the other.  
  
When they reached the top, Jim took the time to remove the necessary items from his bag he'd brought up with them, and set everything on the nightstand. Then he turned back to Blair.  
  
Slowly, they undressed each other, the heat of their bodies increasing, their eyes fastening on lips as fingers caressed, unbuttoned, unzipped, supported. Their breathing deepened as they both accepted this, strove to slow it down, to savor their first time -- in their home -- in their bedroom.  
  
With love and awe, Blair ran his hand up, over and across Jim's chest, his eyes following the trail, his breath hitching at the sheer wonder of Jim Ellison. As he let his thumb softly circle around Jim's right nipple, he realized that every move he made, Jim was duplicating -- on him.  
  
They continued in this quiet, needful exploration for several minutes, their passion increasing, their urgency doubling, then tripling. But still -- they moved in the now almost painful slowness, a slowness as urgent as the need to complete.  
  
Finally, their bodies moved to touch, to just touch and Jim's head came down as Blair's rose and their lips met, parted, tongues flicking out, tasting, then taking turns swiping deliciously across upper and lower lips, before finally moving the action inside. As Blair's tongue entered Jim's mouth, as he tasted him, his arms moved around Jim's waist, pulling the man in, and further in...  
  
...and still, they remained standing.  
  
Kisses ended, and started, and ended, and between the rich darkness of them, each man found a favorite spot to love, to taste, hands moving again, stroking, scratching, Jim's right hand finally coming to rest in the riot of hair, fingers anchoring themselves, twisting within the coarse, natural silk, tilting the head back, letting his tongue plunge deep, and Blair made the first sound -- a deep, guttural moan.  
  
The moan seemed to signal the end of the slow, tight, restrained lovemaking. The sound motivated Jim, pushed him and he did a little pushing of his own, shoving the body in his arms backward, toward the bed.  
  
Their lovemaking became a tangle of arms and legs, of grunts and moves, twists and turns, Each man moving from top, then to the bottom as the pace picked up. The noise of their need was punctuated by the low, animalistic sounds of both men.  
  
No words were spoken as cocks rubbed, the friction heating them, prodding them to move faster, breathe harder, until Blair said...  
  
..."no."  
  
Jim froze, eyes flying open, fear speeding his heart beat to an almost immeasurable pace.  
  
"Blair..."  
  
Sandburg pushed himself up, straddling Jim.  
  
"This way, Jim, this way..."  
  
He reached for two of the condoms resting on the nightstand and slowly, teasingly, tore them open with his teeth. He pulled out the first disc and handed it to Jim.  
  
"Put it on."  
  
Jim's now shaking fingers did as he was asked, all the while watching Blair as he used the second condom on himself, then flipped open the lube and gently prepared himself, his body poised over Jim like some great, sleek, strong beast.  
  
Finally a hand began to stroke Jim's sheathed erection, sliding the gel up and down, each move designed to drive Jim to the very edge.  
  
As the older man gritted his teeth, held on, Blair slowly -- rose...  
  
...and came down, paused, head back, hands behind him, bracing himself on Jim's legs, then with a final, fluid motion, impaled himself on Jim.  
  
For the space of one, eternal moment -- neither man moved.  
  
The fullness that was Jim had to be held, to be savored for as long as Blair could handle it. His muscles quivered, sweat broke out over his face, his chest ran with the moisture, his neck corded with the delicious, painful, pleasuring strain of it.  
  
His arms trembled with the effort, but still, he remained unmoving, feeling every inch of the man buried deep within him.  
  
Jim held onto the need to thrust, to move, to assuage the throbbing dick, choosing instead to watch Blair, to stay still, to give him this moment. His control was ebbing, his body rebelling, but still, he remained motionless....  
  
...until, he had to say...  
  
"Blair -- god -- Blair."  
  
Sandburg moved then, finally moved, up, ever so slightly, then down, then up and this time, as his body rose, Jim rose with him, and moments later the rhythm was set, only the pace changing, first slow, then fast, then faster, both men shifting, Blair feeling the current of electricity pump through him as Jim hit his prostate, once, twice and an impossible third time.  
  
He came with a shout, with Jim's name.  
  
Jim's hips seemed to have a mind of their own, moving of their own accord and with four more sharp, upward moves, he came with an almost torturous climax.  
  
Blair's body, held up by Jim's climax, fell forward with the his completion, cushioned by Jim's arms as he came to rest on the broad chest.  
  
*****  
  
This time it was Blair who went into the bathroom and brought up the warm, wet washcloth and dry towel, who removed the used condoms and disposed of them, who lovingly bathed Jim's softened penis, who ran the soft cloth over sweat soaked skin.  
  
When he was finished, he took everything downstairs and came back up, slid back into bed, felt himself shifted onto Jim as the blanket was thrown over both their bodies.  
  
"We're in for one hell of a half century, Chief."  
  
*****  
  
Blair checked the clock and wasn't surprised to see that it was only two in the morning. He wasn't wide awake, but rather drifting in that special, soft, cocoon-like state before coming to total awareness. He felt Jim's warmth, could hear Jim's heart beating beneath his cheek.  
  
When he'd walked off the plane in San Francisco, over a week ago, he'd had absolutely no expectations for his future. He'd accepted that Jim Ellison would no longer be in his life. Accepted that he would go the rest of his life alone. Moving, never stopping, never finding another home.  
  
God, it was good to be wrong. To be found.  
  
"Hey, you're awake."  
  
Blair shifted slightly and smiled up at Jim.  
  
"Would appear so."  
  
"Me too."  
  
"Jim, aren't you amazed by all this?" Blair's hand waved gently in the air, indicating -- nothing that Jim could discern.  
  
"Care to be a bit more specific, Chief? I still don't read your hands all that well."  
  
Blair bit him. Then said, "Think about it. Three years ago we connect. I have a mother I love, but whom I rarely see, you have a father and brother you haven't seen in years. Now, three years later, my mother is with the only man I ever called Dad, and you, your father and Steven are moving closer together. We're kind of this," his hand waved again, "weird -- family now. You know?"  
  
It hit Jim. Hard.  
  
He. Had. A. Family.  
  
"I'm in a family," he said, surprised.  
  
"Yep, you are. Okay, definitely not the traditional family, and still, slightly dysfunctional because, after all, I'm a part of it, but a family, nevertheless. Very -- twenty-first century though. Don't you think?"  
  
"Chief, this family is because you're a part of it. And if you're dysfunctional, may you remain so for the remainder of our lives."  
  
"Gee, you say the -- weirdest things, Jim."  
  
"Thanks. I work hard at it. Good to see that my work is appreciated."  
  
"Jim, your work is very appreciated." A hand drifted down and fingers closed around a nice, long hardened piece of Jim's flesh. "In fact, some things are more appreciated than others."  
  
"Hey, is that all I am to you? A fine piece of appreciated work?"  
  
"At the moment, yes."  
  
"Well, I say -- knock yourself out appreciating, Chief."  
  
Blair did.

  
  
~~finis~~

**Author's Note:**

> Author's disclaimer: I don't know who stole Jim's white socks, only that it wasn't me. HONEST! Oh, and the guys belong to PetFly and not me, contrary to my mental illness.


End file.
